


Revolutionary Warfare

by not_who_we_are, orphan_account



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: 1962, Alcohol, Alternate Universe: Mafia, Alternate Universe: Non-powered, Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Prostitution, Sex, london mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2443037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_who_we_are/pseuds/not_who_we_are, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1962, Erik and his family seeks refuge in London City. Hungry and desperate to pay his rent, Erik goes to find the city's young mob boss, Charles Xavier. A request for a small loan turns into a job offering that Erik accepts with a heavy heart. His job sounds simple enough: runner, money collector, harasser. There's just an additional, last minute condition thrown into the mix: sex. </p><p>Despite already having a family of his own, Erik finds himself continually being made to have sex with Charles. He struggles to keep his new life separate from Magda and Anya, and finds himself spiraling deeper and deeper into the hell that is the world of the London mafias.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings: Dubious consent**
> 
> Thank you **kageillusionz** for the initial beta. Any remaining mistakes are our own.

At first glance, Charles Xavier looked more so a rich, privileged undergrad than the boss of The Greyhounds. With carefully tousled dark, mousy hair and entrancing bright blue eyes, Xavier was a fine specimen of someone who’d come from old money, brought up and raised as the successor of one or several businesses.  
  
Seated across Erik, Xavier had his legs crossed. Over the couch, his sister leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. In their hands were glasses of alcohol, and on their faces were smiles so carefree and blinding Erik felt like folding in on himself and shrinking away. He’d rather anywhere than here, but a constant reminder ticked in his head, he couldn’t leave. Not now, not yet. He came with a quest in mind and he’d be damned if he left without fulfilling it. And if he had to ask once more, twice more, a hundred times more, he’d keep going at it until Xavier gave in.  
  
“Mr. Xavier, I know it’s your sister’s birthday. I don’t want to bother you any more than you’d like me to stay, but I’d appreciate it if you could—”  
  
“—What did I say about today?” Xavier wagged his finger at Erik. “Or rather, what did I say about right now?”  
  
“Yes, but if you—”  
  
“No business transactions. None at all. I don’t care what it is, I don’t care how urgent it is; I will not be doing any business deals right now. Not tonight,” Xavier said. Raven, his younger sister, nodded enthusiastically, and her face flushed with a deep shade of red as her hair bounced with the motion.  
  
“No deals,” Raven pouted. “It’s my birthday, Charles. You promised.”  
  
“I did,” Xavier said, mostly to Erik, to allow the idea and words to sink in. “And I will most certainly be holding to my promise, darling. Rest assured.”  
  
Raven grinned then, surging forward and throwing her arms around Xavier, squeezing around him however she could. She was drunk, no doubt, and her drink spilt from her glass onto the carpeted floor, barely missing Xavier’s blue pinstriped three piece suit. It looked expensive. Erik wondered how he might ever afford to buy Xavier a three piece suit if he’d been the one to spill a drink on the man. He wasn’t even sure he’d walk out the club alive if he’d so much as dared lay a finger on Xavier. Likely, his henchmen were watching from every corner of the room and the second Erik got too close they’d fire a shot right through his head.  
  
Erik grimaced, stealing a deep breath to steady himself. He wouldn’t allow himself to think of such morbid scenarios, not when he still had a wife and a child at home waiting for his safe return.  
  
“Mr Xavier,” Erik started. “I know what you said, but if you’d just lend me some cash, if you could loan me—”  
  
“Why don’t you have a drink instead?” Xavier interjected. He was adamant on refusing Erik’s ordeal, on ignoring Erik’s call for help. “It’s good scotch, you know. I’m sure you’ll love it. Waiter? Could I get a glass of Macallan’s for my friend over here, please?” Charles turned and looked over his shoulder, hand raising to signal a drink for Erik.  
  
“That’s not necessary,” Erik said, voice wavering. With every passing second, Xavier was even more persistent on sticking to his promise, one that Erik needed the young boss to break if he were to go home with enough cash to pay his rent tonight.  
  
“I don’t drink,” Erik said.  
  
Xavier waved him off, laughing at his stubborn-headedness. Erik’s heart sank further and further into his stomach.  
  
“You’re here at a party, my sister’s birthday party, mind you. You are most definitely drinking.”  
  
Erik couldn’t tell if that was a suggestion or a threat. He swallowed reflexively.  
  
The waiter came back with a glass of dark yellow liquid. Erik brought the glass to his lips and tilted it up, allowing the liquid to flow into his mouth. The first flood of tangy bitterness over his taste buds was disgusting, but he swallowed a mouthful of it nonetheless.  
  
It fucking tasted like piss.  
  
But then, Erik’s encounter with alcohol had been close to nil. This would be his fourth time drinking alcohol of any sort. Perhaps all alcohol was supposed to taste like piss.  
  
Breathing through his nose, Erik took another mouthful and this time, he winced. His expression must’ve been delightfully comical for Raven started to giggle, and then she started to chortle and before Erik could blink the jarring sting of hot alcohol from the backs of his eyes, Raven was clutching at her stomach and bursting out in laughter.  
  
Xavier had started to laugh too. Erik didn’t know what exactly was so funny. He did not laugh, but that wasn’t to say his ego had been bruised. Erik’s ego had long since been torn to pieces. His pride was something of a bad past, snatched away from him many years ago when he was still young, when he was still a child in Auschwitz. Pride did not matter to Erik. Survival did.  
  
It was these same thoughts and drive that forced him to stay entirely still while Xavier rubbed the tears from his eyes and Raven tucked stray locks behind her ear.  
  
Erik needed to ask again. He needed the money. He was desperate, and his body must have showed the built up anxiety coiling tight in his muscles, keeping his back rigid, his arms tensed, his breathing a forced calamity.  
  
There was no certainty that if he finished his glass of scotch, Xavier would agree to the cash loan. It didn’t deter Erik from drinking every last drop of it anyways. When that was done, his eyes felt like they were burning and his mouth was dry like sandpaper. He held the glass firmly in his hand.  
  
“Please,” Erik said. “I really need that money.” His voice was so hoarse it was a wonder how anyone could hear him over the live jazz music playing in the background.  
  
Admittedly, Raven was pouring herself another glass and Charles was speaking with someone who’d come by his side, whispering something Erik couldn’t hear. The man’s lips moved animatedly; Erik wished he could lip-read.  
  
Then, Xavier’s gaze flicked to meet Erik’s even if he was still faced towards his henchman. Erik’s heart pounded, beating hard against his ribcage.  
  
They’d found out.  
  
They’d found out and realized that he wasn’t supposed to be here, that he wasn’t one of Xavier’s people. Erik had snuck his way in by bribing one of the young lads outside with a single pound and now they’d found out.  
  
His calf muscles clenched, ready to sprint him to safety should someone point a gun to his head. What were the chances of surviving a shot to the head though? What were the possibilities of him bolting fast enough out the door through an entire room of henchmen all the while managing a quickly dizzying head.  
  
The way Erik figured, he had two choices. He could either get up and walk away right now, or stay and take a bullet to the head. Either ways, he was fucked.  
  
Deciding that his life couldn’t possibly get any worse than it already was, Erik stayed.  
  
“I’m not leaving,” he said. Meeting Xavier’s gaze, Erik watched as the light from the young man’s eyes drained. He was still smiling, but not with the same candour just moments ago. It was terrifying, and Erik pressed his lips together, determined.  
  
“It’s your sister’s birthday, I know. But I’m not leaving. You can shoot me, you can kill me—it’s probably better that you do, but I’m not leaving. Thirty pounds, that’s all that I need, that’s all I’m asking you for.”  
  
The live band was playing the fox-trot now. His heart rate sped up until it matched the beat of the music. That was all he could hear now. Music and nothing more. He was afraid he’d been shot already, been stabbed with a knife on some part of his body that he didn’t already know of. But the blood that flowed through him was hot and boiling, and as he clenched his fingers, nails digging indents into his palms, he knew he was still alive.  
  
Xavier considered him, flicking his gaze up and down Erik’s body, scrutinizing him. Erik sat there, braving it. He was wearing shoddily, he knew. His long sleeved shirt and ugly black jacket was dirty and filthy compared to Xavier and to the glamour of the party. His trousers weren’t top grade either, the colour having faded from years of constant re-wearing. These days, food had become so scarce he’d drastically lost weight; he’d always need to tighten the belt up to the last hole.  
  
Erik sat there and let Xavier decide upon his fate, let Charles Xavier bare holes through his body until he was satisfied with his inspection. Xavier’s smile returned then, the one that stretched wide and lit up his entire face, and when Erik noticed it, he felt breathless and giddy.  
  
“Fine,” Xavier said.  
  
“Fine?” Erik’s brow pinched together. What did that one word entail exactly?  
  
“Raven, darling—”  
  
“—No business transactions,” Raven said. Even the giddiness from her tone was gone now. The siblings were alike in this manner. One second they were laughing joyously and the next, Erik was meeting another half of them, the one that dealt with the daily ins and outs of leading lives in the mafia. They were skilled at this, Erik realized. They were code switching. “You said you wouldn’t. Not today. Not on my birthday.”  
  
Xavier actually paused then, and Erik could tell that he was holding back a sigh. He nodded at Raven.  
  
“A promise is a promise,” Xavier said, defeated.  
  
“Yes, it is.”  
  
Raven’s eyes were alight, fiery. Xavier, despite his reputed cunning and maliciousness softened under her heated gaze.  
  
“I promise.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Raven’s forehead. That pacified her, and she calmed instantly. “Now go dance with Dr. McCoy. He’s standing over there all by himself looking like the oddest statue of the century.”  
  
“Pfft, he won’t dance with me.” Still, Raven got up and dusted at her gold, body hugging dress. The glitter fell off in specks. When she combed her fingers through her hair, the particles clung to her strands so that it sparkled an even brighter gold.  
  
“Well, wish me luck,” she said, looking straight at Erik while she pushed her breasts up and flung her long hair over her shoulder. The words never made it out of Erik’s mouth. Not that she stayed long enough for him to speak.  
  
Her figure disappeared into the crowd and when Erik turned back, seeking Xavier, something tugged at his wrist, pulling him to his feet.  
  
“I don’t like talking business over music,” Xavier explained with a smile. Which made no sense whatsoever on why Xavier should be holding his hand, directing him.  
  
Erik’s mouth was dry again. He licked at his lips, wetting them, or at least trying to. It still felt dry and his tongue was stale in his mouth, a heavy dead weight.  
  
They made it to the other side of the room and escaped through the door into the hallways. Silence reigned when Erik had enough sense to shut it behind him. The air was stifling, and the sudden empty quietness was disconcerting.  
  
Xavier let go of his hand so that it flopped down to his side. “I suppose here is as good a place as any to talk,” Xavier said, running fingers through his hair, disarraying it. It was messier and Xavier appeared younger.  
  
Erik suddenly remembered what he’d heard from people around the neighbourhood. The leader of The Greyhounds was a young man. Some had said he was twenty-eight or possibly twenty-nine, but in this instance, Erik thought Xavier couldn’t have possibly been more than twenty-five. His face was still cherubic, the lines around his eyes light, his skin pale, unscarred by the sun. He was young, and yet the stories of Charles Xavier were often nothing short of grim, violent and dark. It was alarming to see the stark differences between those rumours and the physical embodiment of whence they came from.  
  
There was hardly anyone along the corridor save for a sole member situated further down, hiding in the shadows. Erik couldn’t see his face but he could make out the shape of his body, rigid and stoic, on guard. Was this naivety? Or was Xavier simply trustful of his subordinates? Between Erik and the guard, who might be faster? If Erik were to pull out a knife and stab it right into Xavier’s solar plexus, would the guard manage to shoot him down in time?  
  
“How much was it you needed from me?” Xavier asked, redirecting Erik’s attention back on him.  
  
“Mr Xavier—”  
  
“—I’m going to interrupt you for the last time, and I do apologize for it. But please, call me Charles.”  
  
A protest fought its way up but Erik quelled it at the last second. Mr Xavier was definitely the more respectable term but if the man wanted to be known as Charles, Erik would oblige. The name was easy on his tongue, but he did pronounce the ‘r’ far too heavily with his accent; sometimes he failed to conceal it no matter how often he reminded himself the problems and likely consequences that came with revealing his culture and heritage.  
  
He winced. And Charles gave him a curious little smile.  
  
“Charles then. I need a cash loan of thirty pounds,” Erik blurted out, as if afraid that if he kept them in any longer, he’d never have the chance to speak his request.  
  
Charles’ brow quirked up. “Thirty pounds?”  
  
“If... that’s too much, I can make do with twenty,” Erik swallowed.  
  
“Oh. Oh? No. No, no. Of course not. I was… expecting more, actually,” Charles said, sounding amused.  
  
Erik wondered if thirty pounds meant anything at all to Charles because it’d mean the world to Erik if he had that wad of cash in hand.  
  
He watched Charles, waiting for a definite yes or a no. He couldn’t decipher the meaning behind the pinch of Charles’ brows, the way the man swiped a tongue across his lower lip, thinking. Erik looked up and saw over Charles’ shoulders a pair of eyes glowing at him, watching him. A flicker of defiance flared through his bones and his jaw gritted together as he raised his head an inch, daring the other to come at him, to throw a few punches, attack. The huff of breath he heard was possibly his imagination, but it sounded like something of an amused chuckle, then the guard was no longer staring at him.  
  
“What’s your name?” Charles asked, peering up at him. Charles was shorter than him by a whole head.  
  
There was temptation there to give a fake name. Thinking it through, there was no reason he should do so. “Erik Lehnsherr,” he said, his German accent evident now.  
  
“Alright. Erik. I’d like to strike you a deal, if you’d take it.” Erik’s wariness spiked like a coiled spring. “How would you like a job with The Greyhounds?”  
  
Erik’s eyes widened. “What... will I need to do?”  
  
“Mm, nothing that you’re imagining, certainly.” Charles’ lips curled into a smile. “I’d like to employ you. I’d like to have you running for me. You’ll be collecting loan debts mostly, doing manual labour and helping out with administration, if ever they’re short on hand in that department. Essentially though, you’ll simply be collecting overdue debts.” He leaned against the wall, hands tucking into his trouser pants, leaving Erik to stand dumbly in the narrow corridor. “And then there are days where you’ll need to fire a shot or two.”  
  
“I’ll be expected to kill.”  
  
“To kill, to loot, much more. Sometimes there are innocents, but I tend to steer clear from those whom have no tack with me,” Charles explained, “it’s my own personal decision.”  
  
“Very noble,” Erik muttered under his breath.  
  
“Thank you,” Charles chuckled, amused. “You’ll be given say… ten pounds a week, for a start. And that number will increase over the length of your stay. I’ll give you a starting bonus of fifty.”  
  
Ten a week was a good deal, and that starting sum would pay off his rent immediately. With the additional money, he’d be able to put food on the table again. Erik was ready to accept the offer, mouth opening to form the word of agreement when Charles started again.  
  
“Although I should add that before I can employ you, you will be given a test run.”  
  
Erik’s expression hardened. A test run. Of course there was a catch. He almost let himself laugh bitterly then; instead, reeled that in until it sat buried in his gut, the same way all of his emotions were kept these days. Locked away, protected, safe.  
  
“What are the details?” His fingers carded through his own hair and felt the grime and oiliness of several day’s collected between the strands. It was disgusting. He needed to shower soon.  
  
“You are to kill someone for me,” Charles said easily, no single word tumbling.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Ahh… well, the name is an unnecessary detail. In fact, I find it’s better not to know the name of the one you’re killing. I do have the address with me though, and I know for a fact that they’ll be returning home from a trip tomorrow morning.” Charles reached into his pocket and took out his wallet, pulling out a single card. “I’ve been meaning to get rid of him anyways. I’ll give you the job if you come back the next time with his left thumb. There’s a silver ring he wears around it. Cut off his thumb and ring and bring it to me.”  
  
Erik’s stomach lurched, his gastric juices churning uncomfortably against the walls. He was not frightened nor disgusted, but there was a disconcerting feeling that didn’t sit well with him. Pressing his mouth into a thin line, he reached out for the card. Their fingers brushed together and a shiver worked down Erik’s spine to his toes.  
  
“Alright,” he said simply, neither agreeing nor denying his acceptance of Charles’ demand.  
  
“Alright,” Charles said, as though reassuring him.  
  
The music from the other side of the door got louder again, and Erik heard cheering and the notable sound of a champagne bottle popping. Charles grinned, his expression fond and soft. “That will be my sister. I’m going back inside now. Drop by again in the next three days and you’ll get your job.”  
  
Xavier did not offer a handshake nor anything else to seal their deal but he did nod and smile, and that was enough for Erik to believe the legitimacy of their transaction. As the door opened and music trailed out into the corridor, Erik caught glimpses of moving bodies, sparkling sequin dresses swaying to swing music. He craned his head, the sight of their giddy faces and jubilant eyes searing jealousy in him.  
  
Afterwards, there was only silence and darkness, muffled laughter, and a euphoria that Erik knew he would never in his lifetime experience. He was alone. Himself, the orange hue of the lights overhead and the guard a distance away from him. Erik turned towards him. The man hadn’t moved since Erik had first laid eyes on him. He didn’t move even when Erik went past him and down the hall to the exit.  
  
Winding through the corridors, he finally found his way out the establishment and onto the streets. Cold air hit him like a freight train and he suddenly remembered that he hadn’t any gloves with him. He stuffed his dry hands into the side pockets as he started home.

*

When he’d reached the run-down apartment he called home, his family had already gone to bed. Removing his shoes, he paced his way around the tiny space until he got to the kitchen.  
  
He was giddy. The alcohol had already settled in his blood and now his throat scratched uncomfortably every time he swallowed the saliva collected in his mouth. Pouring himself a glass of water, he gulped it down in record time.  
  
A grumble came from his stomach and Erik hunched over as it clenched. No doubt, acid was grinding the walls of his stomach and had been at it for God knew how long now. Erik hadn’t eaten today, but neither had his wife. Whatever food they had went to their five year old, Anya.  
  
He set the empty glass down in the sink and scrubbed at his face, holding it against the warmth of his palms for a moment, hiding there. He was tired, he was hungry, and he needed to sleep. He needed Magda, his wife.  
  
Turning the doorknob of their room door, Erik walked in with the pads of his feet against cold wooden floor. Removing the clothing from his body was an exhausting affair. When he was stripped down to his boxers, he climbed into their Queen sized bed; the only luxury they had in this humble home. It belonged to their landlord, but Erik was content with using it so long as the landlord didn’t evict them.  
  
Erik wrapped his arm around Magda’s waist, drawing her into him; his front to her back.  
  
“Erik?” she murmured, pressing back against him. “Ahuvi…” her voice was a lull, equally drowned out and laced with weariness.  
  
“Magda,” he said, dropping a soft kiss to the top of her skull. He slid his hand down her arm until he could find her hand, then held and squeezed it in a manner both comforting to her and to himself. She was his anchor, his support, the mother of his child, the reason he was still here. She was everything to him, and Erik held and clung to her like she was his lifeline. Erik rubbed his thumb over the inside of her palm to feel the callouses of her day’s work. Needle work at the factory. And whatever else she did to help them earn residency in this apartment.  
  
“I found a job,” he mumbled.  
  
“Did you? What will you be working as?”  
  
“I’ll be helping a young man with his growing business. I’ll be doing most of the manual labour.”  
  
She slipped her hand out from under his and turned, shifting on the bed until they were face to face.  
  
There was a smile on her lips, and even if the only light was the one that came through the parted curtains, Erik could keenly see how glad she was. He’d been searching for a job for days, but none of them paid nearly enough to cover their due rent. It didn’t help that Erik was still so terribly frightened and paranoid with himself, of the consequences that might occur should he let his German accent slip. The fear was constant, brooding just beneath the surface of his skin.  
  
Assuming Xavier had no personal issues against Jews, Erik felt it would be safer to work for him than with anyone else. Plus, if Charles did find out Erik’s heritage, Erik would’ve been killed by someone in the mafia than any ordinary Jew-hating Nazi. It sounded like a better deal. When pushed to the corner with no other path to go, this was a risk he was willing to take.  
  
“We’ll be okay, won’t we?” Magda asked. She cupped Erik’s face with one hand, and he leaned into that warmth.  
  
“We will. We’ll be alright. You, me, Anya. We’re going to be fine. We’re going to survive.” Erik leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead.  
  
Magda nodded, and then sighed. Her lips were soft when she kissed him, and Erik heard her say, “We’ll be okay. We will… I love you, Max.”  
  
“I love you too.” He pulled the covers up and tucked her under his chin. “I love you so much, Magda.”

*

For a man who had relations to the mafia, his target’s apartment building was not any better than Erik’s own. Stepping out of the lift onto carpeted floor, Erik stalked down every unit with his heart pounding.  
  
Growing up in the slums, Erik had always been caught in street fights. He’d needed to be skilled in hand to hand combat and to know how to wield a knife. He hadn’t used knives much since, but as he pulled one from his jacket and held it in hand, the familiarity of a steel solid weight assured him.  
  
The door was ajar. Peeking inside, he could see papers and what looked to be a single empty beer bottle on the ground. There was the knowing sound of static emitting from the television set, a luxury Erik did not yet have. He heard snoring. Quiet little low rumbles that accompanied the static.  
  
His target was careless, very much so. Erik pushed the door further until he could properly look inside. The floor was littered with junk. Papers and beer bottles were strewn throughout--rubbish and day old meals that hadn’t been cleared laying stagnant on every surface available.  
  
The place reeked of pungent sweat and alcohol. Erik winced as it flooded his nostrils. His gaze fell to the figure slumped over in the armchair. He was entirely unconscious, dead drunk, sleeping away while Erik stood there in his living room waiting to plunge his knife into the man’s chest.  
  
Erik’s pulse fluttered and sped up, and he breathed a little harder at the bout of light headedness that hit him. He was not afraid, but he was anxious. He’d never consciously killed before; this murder would be his first.  
  
Stepping over the trash, Erik stood before his target, watching the rising and falling of his chest, watching the way fat and flesh spilled over trouser seams whenever the man inhaled.  
  
He raised his hand, readying to plunge it when fat fingers clasped around his wrist, holding it so tight he thought his bones might break. Erik swayed, eyes widening as his target stared right back at him. A chill shot down his spine.  
  
“Fuck."  
  
A kick to his stomach knocked the wind from his lungs and he choked, clutching his front as he staggered. The knife was still in his hand, safe. He searched through dim lighting, focusing on the man’s heart on the left side of his body. The man was a large lumbering weight, and he was reaching inside his jacket to pull out a gun, a pistol. Erik cursed, jaw clenching tight, his legs muscles wounding even tighter as he pushed himself forward, wrestling the man into the ground.  
  
Glass bottles clinked and rolled away from them. They landed on the floor with a booming thump, with the man below Erik. Erik’s head swirled, he winced. He hadn’t noticed the pistol being pulled out from his target’s jacket until he’d felt something hard and solid against the flat of his stomach. He flinched, knocking the man’s hand away with his left forearm and turning to his right side so that the bullet had missed him where it mattered, grazing the side of his chest instead, cutting across skin enough to leave a mark, but not enough that the metal bullet sunk into flesh. Fuck. The sound would’ve alerted the neighours. Fuck, fuck, fuck.  
  
“Who sent you?” the man shouted, knocking Erik’s chin with his elbow. Thank god he hadn’t bitten down on his own tongue. It hurt like a bitch though, but Erik couldn’t dwell on it.  
  
He said nothing, climbing back atop his target before he had a chance to get up. Erik reeled his arm back and brought it down for a punch, jabbing the man across his chubby face so hard he heard a bone crack. The man groaned, face contorting in visible pain.  
  
“Was it Xavier? He sent you to kill me? That fucker?” the man wheezed.  
  
His target still had his pistol in hand, and he was aiming it at Erik again. Releasing his hold on the knife to grab at thick wrists, Erik pinned them down with the entirety of his weight, gravity helping in part with this.  
  
The man was screaming now, all gravelly hoarse voice from round after round of alcohol. 'See? Alcohol never does anyone any good,' he thought with disdain. It helped still that the man’s drunkenness made it much easier for Erik to pick his knife and finally plunge it between fleshy ribs, right at his heart.  
  
There came a gasp, a choke. Eyes snapping wide open. Erik watched depths of brown swallowed by pitch black. Breathing coming in gurgles. Someone was drowning in their own blood. That someone was his target, not Erik. The man choked on the blood that had flowed into his lungs. Erik heaved, pulling out the knife with a sick squelch only to stab it right in again. The man’s mouth parted and his facial muscles strained. He looked as if he were screaming but no sound came. Silence was the only reward for Erik’s effort and he took it gladly.  
  
The fight had been short; he didn’t think it could be considered a fight. A tussle, more like it. A tug-o-war between two grown men. Erik had only a bruise on his chin and a graze at his side. And it wasn’t even all that bad a bruise, hurting only slightly when he pressed two fingers to it.  
  
The man had stopped breathing entirely. Erik took his knife out and watched blood trickle down smooth steel. He searched out for a chubby left hand and ran the pad of his index digit over his ring. 'Alright, cut the thumb and ring, get up, and then leave,' he thought.  
  
It was so very simple and easy to slice through flesh and bone until he could hold the chunk of meat in his palm. It was disgusting too, for all it was worth, to feel like a butcher in a pork shop. Erik's head hung low. He took a moment to inhale the scent of alcohol, stale food, and then coppery blood.  
  
His hands weren’t shaky, he noted, and he wondered what that meant, for them to be this steady as he pulled a piece of plastic from his pocket and wrapped the thumb like it were a gift. Which wasn’t at all inaccurate. This was for Xavier. He hoped the young boss would appreciate the present.  
  
Standing up, his foot knocked over a sturdy metal. The pistol. It had no owner anymore. Erik looked at it, stared and contemplated. Deciding it might come in handy, he grabbed it and shoved it into his jacket pocket alongside the severed thumb.  
  
The sound of the pistol firing several minutes earlier should have alerted someone—anyone, if not the neighbours. Erik’s hands were stained with blood that had now dried. He tucked them neatly within the confines of his pockets and hurried down the stairs.  
  
In the shower at home, he scrubbed his skin with a pumice. He could hear Magda speaking with Anya, ushering her to bed. He wasn’t sure how long he stood under the warm spray of water but by the time Magda came round to tell him she was going to bed, her voice had gone soft and mellow.  
  
“I’ll be out in a bit," Erik said.  
  
Unwilling to waste more water, he turned off the tap and dried himself. He put on an old pair of boxers and shirt and climbed into bed.  
  
“You took your time,” she said. Erik could hear the smile in her words.  
  
“I was thinking.” He shifted uncomfortably.  
  
“About what?”  
  
He paused, guilt catching up with him all at once. He’d killed a man and in the jacket outside held his thumb. He’d killed someone for the first time in his life without knowing what this man did and who he was. This man could have been innocent but Erik had taken his life without hesitation, all for the sake of living. Survival came at great costs, he realized.  
  
“Nothing,” Erik said, curling up against her. “Nothing at all.”

*

The club was deserted when Erik got there the next day. The boy who’d let Erik in the first time was still standing there, leaning against the grey wall with his eyelids drooping. He was falling asleep.  
  
“Hey,” Erik called out, jerking his head up in lieu of raising a hand to wave. The boy jolted. He wiped the corner of his mouth with his palm.  
  
“Shit. Fuck. I fell asleep.”  
  
“Yeah, you did. How long’ve you been here?”  
  
“Uh… a few hours ago I think.”  
  
“And you’re already sleeping?” Erik said, watching the boy yawn and tie floppy red hair into a short pony tail. “Aren’t you scared of getting caught?”  
  
“Hey, you’re not the one doing ten jobs a week, alright? Leave me alone. I’m tired.”  
  
That was a sentiment Erik understood. Erik was so very tired and exhausted and also dreadfully broke. Their only differences being that Erik was jobless while the boy was not. This, of course, was a problem brought upon himself. Do you know anyone who’s hiring who isn’t a crazed, Jew killing Nazi?

The words hung on the tip of his tongue. He bit down and swallowed it away.  
  
“So am I,” Erik said with a shrug of his shoulders.  
  
The streets were bustling with people going on about their daily lives. Even in the back alley, there was loud chatter of people bargaining, talking, greeting. It was six in the evening and the sun had long dipped while its counterpart took its place in lighting the sky. The days were grey. They'd been like this for a couple of weeks now because of the season. Early February. It was still cold, and the air nipped at Erik.  
  
He shifted from one foot to the next. The boy made a sound that crossed between a yawn and a hum. Erik was mostly curious when he asked, “Did you get into trouble?”  
  
The boy’s eyes widened knowingly.  
  
“Hey, shhh.” Red hair swished around as the young teen glanced left and right. “As far as you and I know, that never happened. You never gave me anything and I have no idea who you are. Which is true. I don’t know who you are. Who are you?” And then, “No wait, don’t tell me your name. I don’t wanna know. I don’t wanna know you, don’t wanna get acquainted with you. Alright? I’m just doing my job.”  
  
Everyone was always just doing their job. Everyone was always just trying to survive. It didn’t make that sentence any less bitter, except Erik would be a hypocrite if he said he didn’t currently live by that principle as well.  
  
Erik was just doing his job. He needed the money. That’s all.  
  
“It’s Erik Lehnsherr,” he said somewhat boldly. “If this goes well, I’ll repay you one day.”  
  
“What. With money?”  
  
Erik snorted. “No. I don’t have money. I’ll buy you a meal or throw you a sandwich. Or if you’re lucky, we’ll have meat and you can enjoy my wife’s cooking.”  
  
There was contemplation in the boy’s eyes; two dark brows pinched into a serious frown. A simple shrug came. “Sure...”  
  
Then Erik waited, because there was trepidation residing in his body and honestly, what’s a few minutes out in the cold compared to being in the presence of Charles? If he dared admit it, Charles scared him, and rightfully so. A man with the kind of power and wealth Charles had? Anyone with a sane mind would be scared of out of their fucking wits if they knew what Charles was capable of.  
  
“What? Are you really waiting for me to introduce myself?”  
  
“Would it kill you to? If it would, then you can keep it to yourself. It’s fine.” Not that it was that important anyway.  
  
There was a click of tongue. “What the heck. I’m Sean. You’re looking for our boss, right?” Before Erik had a chance to reply, Sean continued, “Go on inside. Think boss is in the office.”  
  
Sean knocked twice at the metal gate. Someone came and opened it seconds after, and Erik peered inside, down the hallway. It looked like a world of its own, an entirely different planet from the cobbled stone street he was currently standing on. There were carpets inside, plush and dark red, and corridors that led to rooms and offices. The building itself was a row of two storey shop-houses in the front while the back was where other operations took place. From the outside, it didn’t seem very large. Erik had the feeling most if not all of the shops belonged to Xavier, from the tailor stalls to the bars. A fake front to conceal the real business that took place elsewhere.  
  
The muscle in his right arm suddenly spasmed and he was reminded of yesterday night’s activity. Dipping inside his pocket to feel the box where he’d kept the prized token, Erik clenched his fist around and strode in, keenly aware of the ominous clang that came as the door slid shut behind him.  
  
He supposed he should ask around for the office. The place was huge. Two nights ago, Erik had found the club room only by chance. Without music nor any other chatter, he had no idea where it was now.  
  
Someone turned round the corner fast and almost slammed straight into him. Quick reflexes allowed him to dodge it just in time, teeth gritting tight at the flare of annoyance scaling over his skin. 'Keep your cool, Erik. You’re on Xavier’s territory,' he thought coldly.

His feet took him further into the maze-like lair and he glanced at the door of one room to the next. There were all shut and Erik wondered if he’d already walked past all of them. He walked for ten, possibly fifteen minutes, or even longer, and by the time he’d realized where he was, he’d wound up in one of the larger rooms with a fireplace on the right, a wall full of books and other furniture decorating the space. A singular thought ran through his mind: Fuck, I’m lost.  
  
There had been people though, many of Charles’ subordinates that he’d walked past. They hadn’t spared him a single glance, and Erik hadn’t thought too much about it. Sean had mentioned Charles knowing Erik might arrive today, which was… startling, to be quite honest. Either Charles had seen when Erik had killed, or someone had, both of which did him no good.  
  
The scratch of wood against carpet was the only sound that alerted Erik of another’s presence. Turning sharply, his attention was brought to the young mafia boss striding in purposefully, comfortable and confident in his own territory. Erik shivered and then felt his body go warm. Charles looked up, caught his gaze and smiled.  
  
“Oh, Erik! You’re here,” Charles said cheerfully. “I was expecting you to arrive at a later time. Not that it matters what time you reach, really. Hello! Have you been well?” He smiled, eyes crinkling softly around the edges. He was wearing a suit again, this one less stiff than the one he’d worn at Raven’s party. He was a sight, all prim and good poise, the aura around him easy and casual. It made Erik’s breath catch in his throat.  
  
“Charles,” he said, and then stopped, because what was he to say to such a question?  
  
Charles moved to collect a stack of letters from the desk, shuffling through them. He made no sign that he remembered why Erik was here, keeping to himself instead while he tore open a single letter to read the contents. Erik cleared his throat, “I brought you what you requested.”  
  
“Hmm?” Blue eyes blinked at him, bright and clear, none of that glassy quality it had before. “Ah. That. Well.” Charles abandoned the letter and stalked over, coming right into Erik’s personal space. Christ. Erik had to take one step back so that Charles’ face wouldn’t be directly in front of his. “Let’s have it here.”  
  
Reaching into his pocket, Erik’s fingers wrapped around the soft disembodied thumb. He slipped it into Charles’ left hand and watched as Charles merely glanced over it like it was worth crap. Charles made a face, freely tossing it in his palm, scrutinizing. Something must’ve clicked in Charles’ mind, for the young man abruptly tilted his head back up and grinned at Erik, broad and wide, evidently pleased.  
  
“Good work, Erik. I knew you could do it.” Charles moved to pick a stack of letters from the desk. He shoved them into the drawer and left them there, throwing the thumb in as well. “I always did have a keen eye for spotting potential. This calls for a celebration.”  
  
“A celebration?” Erik was rather hoping to get the money and leave. The place felt iffy and made his skin crawl. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m hoping to keep our meeting short. If you don’t mind.” And wasn’t it too early to start drinking? The last he checked, night had only just descended on them, the stars barely shining in the grey bustling city. 'I have to get home,' he vehemently kept to himself. 'My wife is waiting, so is my child, Anya. They’re all waiting for me to return home.'  
  
“Nonsense. You can’t just take the money and leave. What kind of a host would I be then? We’ll have some drinks and then you can go home when we’re done here.” Charles was standing before one of the cabinets in a matter of seconds, flinging the cupboards open to pull out a bottle by the corner. “The night’s still young, we’ve loads to do.”  
  
Erik didn’t drink, Charles knew that. Erik had declined the offered drink then and he would do so again now. “I’m sorry, I don’t hold my liquor well. This would be a waste on me.”  
  
“This,” Charles said, taking two tumblers out and filling it with a yellowish substance. “Is hell of a good whiskey that will go to waste if you decide on not finishing it. I’d really rather you not.”  
  
A threat. Charles was threatening him.  
  
“Here.” The cool glass was pushed towards him. Erik stared at it none too longingly, forcing himself not to show any sort of expression that might piss Charles off. In the end, he’d no choice but to accept it. He sighed, “Thank you. But I’m warning you, I’m a slow drinker.” Which was a lie. He’d simply prolong drinking until Charles decided having Erik around more a bore than an actual celebration.  
  
“Excellent. I knew you’d see it my way.” Charles rewarded Erik with a smile. Then Charles seated himself on the cushion couch with a little bounce. “What are you doing standing around. Come here, then.” He patted the empty space beside him.  
  
Erik’s body tensed. He went over slowly. The cushion was soft and comfortable beneath him. He let out a rough exhale.  
  
“Don’t frown now. You’ll be getting your money as promised." Charles clapped a hand at his thigh, squeezing it once and humming. “You’re far too skinny. Not enough food?”  
  
Erik clenched his glass. “No. We have barely enough to feed Anya let alone myself and my wife.”  
  
“Ah,” Charles said, as though he understood everything. Erik ran his dry fingers through his hair, then quietly scrubbed at his face. He heard Charles say, “And how old is Anya?”  
  
“She's still five. Her birthday’s in July. She'll be six years old then.”  
  
That was five months from now and he was sure they wouldn’t have enough to even buy her a cake let alone get her a gift. Of course, in such circumstances, the cake could always count as the present itself.  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Charles said, voice muffled as it got swallowed up by the hollow of the glass. “Well, do drink up. It’ll go stale if you keep it out in the air for too long. Go on.”  
  
So Erik did, tipping his glass back until alcohol streamed back down his throat. One gulp, two gulps. Half of it was gone already and the dizziness hit him so quick he winced. Fuck. He did so hate alcohol.  
  
“Good?” Charles asked, smiling.  
  
“Good,” he lied, unwilling to pull his lips into a returning smile. For reasons unknown, he was feeling increasingly more relaxed in Charles’ company. It wasn’t the alcohol, he knew, but the way Charles spoke to him now did not nearly frighten him as much as it did the first time round. Feeling a smidgen bit bolder, he announced, “Although if I were to be honest with you, it kinda tastes like piss.”  
  
Charles laughed, his head falling back to expose the column of his pale white throat. “Do you say that for all alcohol or only whiskey? Because I’m certain whiskey does not at all taste like piss. Piss would be gin, if you ask me.”  
  
“I say that about all alcohol. Liquor’s expensive and tastes like urine and people pay good money to drink it on a daily basis. It makes no sense.”  
  
“Mm… I’d say it’s an acquired taste, although most just drink it for the kick.” Charles swirled his glass in his hand, noticing Erik’s raised brow. “You’ll understand in a bit more. Keep going.”  
  
Sighing, Erik did as he was told. This stuff was free anyways. If he equated the amount of liquor intake to the worth of its value in cash, Erik was definitely going to drink as much as he could. Or until the tell-tale signs of a throbbing migraine came on.  
  
They sat in mutual silence for a long while. Erik found he didn’t mind it, even when he’d stolen a glance at Charles’ face and realized this was Charles Xavier, the man who he’d heard so much about since arriving in London a year ago. Charles’ history was not spoken of, though Erik suspected it was because no one knew about it, not because they feared the repercussions of spreading a false rumour. Humans were always prone to gossiping on the newest piece of information they could get their hands on, and Charles’ past was something no one had gotten their greasy little hands on just yet.  
  
Curiosity killed the cat, as was the case in many of Erik’s life experiences. Would the information gained be satisfying? He couldn’t help wonder how Charles had gotten into this business, wonder about Charles’ life and the things he’d done. How many people had Charles killed? Erik believed the boyish face and casual demeanour was but a front, a mask. Once that came off, who knew what Charles was truly capable of.  
  
Erik rubbed the glass with his fingers only to have something to do. He still had half of it to finish whilst Charles had already refilled his own. God, the man was an alcoholic.  
  
“Does everyone in the mafia drink the way you do?” Erik asked, feeling his throat scratch roughly.  
  
“Not at all. It’s very much a personal preference. Some like it, some don’t. I’ve an acquaintance from a rival group who absolutely loathes it. He’s like you. He can’t stand the smell and taste of it. It’s a terrible pity. Whenever we get round to meeting, he’d keep away from the alcohol and leave it untouched. The only consolation is that they all go to me by the end of the night. And I never waste a single drop of it.” Charles licked his lips, propping his elbow on his thigh and cupping at his chin.  
  
“Then it all goes to your liver and to your brain and you feel like dying afterwards,” Erik said snarkily.  
  
“Only if you get drunk.” Here, Charles gave him a beaming smile, like he’d said something stupendous and witty. Erik’s face remained expressionless throughout. “I’ve never gotten drunk, not since I was seventeen. Dear Lord, that was the last time I’ve gotten smashed. It feels like eons ago.”  
  
“Then the night at Raven’s party?”  
  
“That? Oh, Erik. I was hardly drunk. Giddy, but not spiralled and out of control. I’m afraid I’ve conditioned myself to stay sane through the entirety of my drinking career. I’ll never be smashed again.” There was spite in Charles’ words, slight, but unmistakable. The man’s voice had dipped, his tone hushing, and on his lips, a sigh hung there, held back.  
  
Charles took a swig and swiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. Erik couldn’t stop watching his mouth. The colour in them had deepened, a dark pigmented red that stood out against fair freckled skin. Those lips curled into a smile and then a smirk, and Erik flushed knowing Charles had caught him staring.  
  
“Now your turn.”  
  
“What?” Erik saw Charles pointing at the glass in his hand, half full, “Oh,” brought it up to his mouth and wished his taste buds would melt into nothingness because he hated this foul tasting concoction. Swallowing too quickly, he choked, dimly aware of Charles laughing in the background.  
  
“You’re absolute shit at this.”  
  
“I did tell you I didn’t drink.” He coughed several times to clear his passageway.  
  
“No, you said you were a slow drinker, and before that you blatantly declined and rejected to drinking when we offered you a glass. That was at the party, by the way, and also bloody rude if you asked me. So far as I can recall, you never once mentioned that you were so hideously terrible at it.” Despite the comment, there was fondness in those words, the posh, perfected English accent carrying the sentence through in a light hearted manner. Erik could almost hear the smirk in Charles’ voice.  
  
He groaned and bent forward to press his face against his palm. The world started to tilt. Okay. Bad move. Erik thumped back against the couch and shut his eyes.  
  
“I hate drinking,” he said.  
  
“Well, I love it. So you are going to finish this or so help me…”  
  
The words hung in the air like gunpowder waiting for its igniting spark. Erik would shove the glass down his throat if the thing would fit. Alcohol stroked his oesophagus on the way down and swirled unsettlingly in his stomach.  
  
“There. I drank it.” Are you happy now?" He gave Charles a pointed look. The young boss had barely touched his own glass. It was still three quarters full. “You haven’t finished yours.”  
  
A smirk played out over plush—Erik had only noticed now how soft they looked—lips as Charles emptied the glass. Good.  
  
It became something of a game then. Erik would drink his glass, and then Charles would drink his own. Erik would drink another, and Charles would drink the next. For someone who hated liquor, Erik was holding it pretty well. The world was a giddy blur but that was actually enjoyable, like closing one’s eyes and walking through snow. The blindness was exciting, the way his feet felt like they were floating—the way he felt like he was floating was absolutely interesting! Was this what they call being drunk? He’d never been drunk before and he was sure he’d only drank two glasses and several other smaller ones. Shots, Charles had said. A revolutionary invention. The only shots Erik had ever heard of were the ones fired from arm rifles. In camp. There was always more dead bodies than there was blood to make up for it. Death had always been so unexcitingly… peaceful.  
  
His head started to pound. Erik opened his mouth to speak but the question never came out. As if hearing Erik’s unspoken question, Charles helpfully spoke up, “Four glasses and three shots.”  
  
“Arey’sure?” came the jumbled mess from his own mouth. He made a face, then tried again. “You’re sure…?”  
  
“Positively.” Charles chuckled. It sounded like purring. “We finished the bottle.”  
  
It lay empty on one of the low tables along with their tumblers and shot glasses. On closer inspection, there was about half an inch left in Charles’ tumbler. Good alcohol mustn’t go to waste, or so Charles had said. Right now, Erik was inclined to believe those words. He was thirsty and parched beyond relief. He needed fluid in his body or he was going to die of dehydration. He clambered over to reach for the cup, unaware of the curl of warm fingers around his wrist. Charles tugged him back gently and Erik turned his head to meet Charles’ gaze.  
  
“It’s not finished. There’s still—still a’bit left.” He was proud of himself for the mostly coherent speech. “Can’t… waste. You’re the one who said so…”  
  
“Indeed I did.” There it was, that purring again, that light chuckle that rumbled in Erik’s ear, working to send waves of tingly sparks skipping over the surface of his skin. Speaking of which, his skin was warm all over, he was hot and uncomfortable, his shirt feeling like they were going to be stuck to his body if his jacket stayed any longer.  
  
“Leave it,” Charles said, and for a second there Erik thought the request had been for him to leave the jacket on. What Charles wanted was for Erik to leave the glass alone, and to bring Erik’s attention back once more to blue hued eyes. Charles curled strong fingers around his wrist, squeezing them in a manner that burned hot like a brand. Erik glared at it hatefully, he despised being touched. He was conscious of the people who got close to him, even more conscious of it physically. His family was the only exception.  
  
But he was quick to discover that Charles had pushed up his sleeve to rub along the inside of his wrist—his left wrist—where those treacherous numbers lay: 214782.  
  
Fear rose like a volcano eruption bursting at the seams. Erik’s eyes widened impossibly and he dared not remove his gaze from Charles’ face, dared not look away lest his death came without him even knowing it. He tried to tug his hand from Charles' grasp but the grip tightened, keeping him there where Xavier could scrutinize his every feature down to the downturn of his lips and the numbers upon his wrist. Marking him. Prisoning him for life.  
  
Erik expected a question. Or maybe a statement. He expected hits, blows, kicks to his stomach and a bloodied broken nose. He expected pain because pain was all he knew and understood. What he did not expect was the way Charles guided his wrist up and then pressed pliant lips to those numbers, kissing the skin there softly.  
  
Erik’s breath hitched, cheeks burning. “Charles. What’re you doing?”  
  
The answer came in the form of more kisses, gentle nips into his wrist, teeth catching and grazing over inked numbers. Not once had Charles shut his eyes nor looked away.  
  
The place where he’d been kissed itched and yearned to be scrubbed until the skin was raw and red. He said again, “What… are you doing, Charles?” and cursed inwardly for how breathless he sounded.  
  
“I’m kissing your mark.” Charles spoke like that was the plain, simple, gospel truth and Erik given no choice but to believe. “You don’t mind, do you?”  
  
“I do, in fact.”  
  
“No, you don’t.”  
  
Another threat. Charles was fond of threatening Erik whether or not this was done consciously. Erik shut his mouth and breathed steadily through his nose. He had no choice but to let Charles do as he pleased. Charles seemed to pick up the moment Erik decided this was a lost cause because he smiled again.  
  
“There’s a smart lad,” Charles said, causing Erik to cringe. He was no lad. In fact, he was certain Charles was younger than him. The man was all smooth skin and joyous unburdened laughter, there was no way in hell Charles held the advantage of age over him.  
  
“I’m not a lad. ‘Tween the two of us, I’m certain you’re the younger one,” he half slurred. It must be the alcohol causing him to speak so freely.  
  
Charles hummed, pressing the side of his face against Erik’s wrist. “I never once told you my age, how would you know? Perhaps it’s the genes? My mother was always told she looked younger than her actual age.”  
  
“Your mother’s lucky, then. I’m still sure I’m the older one here.”  
  
“My mother’s dead,” Charles said, kissing his wrist once more. “How old are you?”  
  
“Twen’y nine.”  
  
“Fine. You win. I’m twenty four.”  
  
Christ. Charles was so young. Erik never had much time to contemplate on this piece of information because Charles had climbed into his lap and settled down like he belonged there. Charles mouthed along his jawline and bit into the side of his neck, sucking a mark right under his ear.  
  
“Fuck—”  
  
“Not yet,” Charles said. And Erik had no idea what that meant. “We’ll get there in a tick.”  
  
That, Erik understood entirely.  
  
“Charles, m’leaving,” he said, tone even, dead serious. “I have a wife.”  
  
“I know you do.” Charles proceeded to lick over the mark he’d left, then traced his tongue over the shell of Erik’s ear. It sent tingles all through him and Erik bit his lip to refrain the whine from escaping.  
  
“I have a child, damn it…” Erik panted.  
  
“Why, Erik, did you think you having a family will stop me from continuing? That’s very naïve thinking, my dear.” Charles rocked his hips against him and Erik felt the nudge of Charles’ trapped erection against the planes of his stomach.  
  
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” He pushed at Charles’ chest, surprised that the other actually backed off long enough to let him up. Standing, the world tilted and spun around him like a kaleidoscope. “Shit.” He reached out for something to grab onto. The nearest object was Charles, and he felt him sling an arm around his waist and start to walk, leading them both out of the room.  
  
Erik could stand, could walk, if he put in the strength to do so, but Charles’ body was so very warm against his and he couldn’t help but lean into it, lingering in its presence for as long as he could. Charles was strong and sturdy for a man his size. Erik sighed exhaustedly as they left the space and wandered down the dimly lit corridor. The distance between the last room and this one was short, and Erik was soon faced with a door staring blankly at him.  
  
“It’s locked…” he mumbled, growing increasingly tired. Charles slot a key in and turned it. After they’d entered, the door closed behind him with an ominous thud.  
  
Lights flickered on and shone brightly on their surroundings. This room was small. There was a wardrobe on the left, a desk on the right and two vintage—as far as Erik could tell—paintings hanging on the walls. One of them looked like the missing piece from the London Auction House. Erik squinted his eyes at it.  
  
He pointed his finger at it accusingly, “S’that stolen?”  
  
Charles laughed and carded a hand through Erik’s hair. Oh god, that felt nice.  
  
“Yes, it is. I stole it some weeks ago. You like?” He moved towards the centre of the room and set Erik down on the bed. Bed? This was the first time he noticed its presence. Which was funny considering how large it was. He’d likely be able to fit four people here. Himself, Magda, his child, all three of them would sleep snugly on this luxurious dark blue bed.  
  
“It’s okay,” Erik said as he flopped down onto the mattress.  
  
The bed sheet was cool under him and Erik started to peel off his jacket, fumbling a little when he couldn’t lift the upper half of his body. “Hot…” he murmured, finally discarding the rumpled jacket, leaving him in his shirt and old jeans.  
  
He shifted onto his side so that he could press his face against smooth sheets, nuzzling at it. He marvelled at just how soft it was, so much more comfortable than the one he had at home, a good thick material that would keep the biting night air out from their dry skin.  
  
Someone climbed atop him. Erik blinked heavily as Charles planted two hands by either sides of his head, effectively trapping him; not that Erik had any intention of escaping. Like this, the light was blocked and Erik saw clearly the expression Charles wore. Excitement tinted the corners of that mouth now pulled taut into a smile, genuine pleasantness wove itself into Charles’ voice when he said Erik’s name.  
  
Erik exhaled, sleepy.  
  
“Hey, stay awake.” A hand cupped Erik’s cheek and Erik chased that human touch like a starved man. “Yeah, that’s it. Stay awake, darling. I can’t have you passing out just yet.”  
  
He did try to follow the given instructions, but god, everything was a lull: Charles’ voice, the bed, the gentle murmur of people outside the building that he could hear even from the depths of this place.  
  
“We’re gonna get this off you, alright?”  
  
Erik felt more so than saw deft digits plucking the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head. “Hands up,” he heard, and did so, flopping back down against the bed when that was done.  
  
It was even cooler now, like being misted with iced water. “I like this,” Erik said.  
  
“I’m glad you do. You’ll like it even more when we get to the main event.”  
  
None of the words seemed to make sense, but Erik nodded nonetheless. His pants and underwear were next to come off. Charles removed them with ease and Erik helpfully lifted his hips to let them slide off. It earned him a pat to his outer thigh and he smiled wistfully, proud of his own usefulness.  
  
Charles removed his own clothes briskly and efficiently, folding and then placing them away on one of the empty chairs. Charles’ shoulders were broad and his waist was trim. His thighs were not as slim as Erik’s but they were muscular and stocky, leading down to gorgeous firm calves. Charles came back and climbed atop him and Erik let his legs fall apart.  
  
There was nothing affectionate about the way Charles moved and shifted Erik around until he was satisfied, or the way Charles grabbed his face with both hands and fucked his mouth with his tongue like he owned Erik. Their teeth clashed and a trail of saliva landed down Erik’s chin, and Charles licked that up and plunged back into his mouth again, thrusting in forcefully.  
  
Erik put his hands on Charles hips, running them up and down. Unlike Magda, Charles’ body was fuller, less curvy, and much more toned. There were scars, tiny nicks into an otherwise perfectly freckled body. The biggest of them was on Charles’ lower back, two precision scars that ran parallel to each other. Erik frowned.  
  
“How’d you get them?” He ran the pads of his fingers over them, eliciting a hiss from its owner.  
  
“Don’t do that,” Charles said, though it sounded more like a growl.  
  
Erik moved his hand away and kept them on Charles’ rump instead, palming the flesh, idly massaging one butt cheek. “I’ll keep them here then. That better?”  
  
“Very much so.” A wet tongue licked across the area under his ear where a bruise had been sucked in. Erik groaned, giving Charles’ ass a perfunctory squeeze causing him to groan, low and deep and rumbling right into Erik’s ear. Erik filed the information away for reference later on. For now, sex first.  
  
That mouth trailed further down until they could close around one nipple, worrying at the tiny bud. Erik had never had sensitive nipples, but he could appreciate the pleasure of having them sucked on and licked at, gently taken between plush lips to swirl a tongue around either one until they peaked and twisted tight. The pleasure was mild yet it made his cock steadily stiffen with arousal.  
  
And then that mouth was gone, and Erik’s hazy mind had wondered if this was when he could finally drop dead on the bed and sleep. As if Charles had picked up on his thoughts, he said, “Just for a while longer, love. And then you can sleep. I know you’re tired and I won’t keep you up for too long, I promise.”  
  
For all that Erik’s body felt like it’d been magnetized into the bed, he was proud to manage his lips to move, proud that he was able to nod and say, “Okay. How do you want me?”  
  
There was brief apprehension not from Erik but from Charles. Erik pushed himself up with his elbows and saw the way Charles’ shoulders had slumped. A moment of weakness, uncertainty. It was laughable because this was what Charles had been leading him up to, wasn’t it? From when Erik had first stepped in, to the drinks, and then now where he laid sprawled underneath Charles. The whole thing had been planned and Erik had allowed himself to be lead along. A dog on the leash. All this because he needed the money and feared that if he’d disobeyed, Charles wouldn’t let him have it.  
  
He pressed his lips into a thin line. “How do you want me, Charles?”  
  
That was enough for Charles to understand his meaning. Charles was a fortitude of authority when he pushed Erik to the side by his shoulder. “Hands and knees.”  
  
As per requested, he brought his knees up until he was on all fours, then looked over his shoulder.  
  
“Like this?”  
  
“Just like that.” Charles’ eyes were dark with lust, the crystal blues of them now thin ringed.  
  
Erik was glad Charles had decided lubrication was necessary; he’d never been fucked in the ass before. A single cold, wet digit circled around his hole, teasing him. He wasn’t sure of Charles’ intention but at least he was relaxing, sinking into clouded fogginess and fuzzy sensations. Charles pushed inside him, breaching him slowly, then paused. That finger wiggled in his ass and Erik couldn’t help but moan.  
  
He slid it in and out, blissfully leisured as he curled and stroked upwards in a come-hither motion, beckoning hitches of breath from Erik.  
  
A second finger pushed in alongside the first. This one was more of a stretch. Not painful, not yet, but getting there. In and out again, scissoring him, stretching his sphincter muscles. And Erik had to relax if he were to have anything as big as a cock inside him.  
  
He was growing impatient. Nervousness seeped into his bones like a bad omen. He couldn’t help but think, 'faster, hurry up, let’s get this over and done with.' Then came the third finger and Erik was hissing, pressing his forehead into the bed, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face.  
  
“Alright there?” Charles asked, a hint of mockery in his voice.  
  
“I’m fine,” Erik said, letting his eyes fall shut, drowning out the rest of the noise so that he was keenly aware of Charles fisting his own cock, the tiny pulls and tugs of skin against skin loud in the otherwise quiet room.  
  
Several more minutes of stretching and Charles removed those fingers with a wet squelch, wiping it across Erik’s inner thighs. That was fucking disgusting even if they’d been inside his own ass, but he made no comment. Charles leaned in to give the round of his ass a little bite, causing Erik to jump at the light clench of teeth.  
  
Erik heard Charles stroking himself wetly and saw Charles come up behind him. And then there was that pressure, blunt at first, and then searing as Charles pushed, relentlessly, sliding inside him. God. The heat of it was blinding, light bursting behind his eyelids where he’d screwed them shut. His throat let out a half tilted cry, wayward and broken and pathetic. Erik didn’t mean to squeeze down on Charles but his muscles did nonetheless, and that was a terribly wrong move because he felt like he was going to be split into two.  
  
Charles groaned, obviously enjoying the tightness. “A complete virgin, aren’t you. Never been fucked by another man before,” Charles said, cooed, really, and nuzzled against his shoulder blades.  
  
Thinking it to be a rhetorical question, Erik kept his mouth shut, using it instead to gnaw into the crook of his elbow, busying himself with something to do, anything at all than focus on the impaling pain.  
  
Charles hadn’t started to move, but he’d begun gyrating his hips, rotating them in circles.  
  
“What’re you doing?” Erik croaked. “Why won’t you fuck me already?”  
  
“I’m trying to loosen you up, you’re too fucking _tight,_ ” Charles said, emphasizing on that last word.  
  
Guilt crashed into Erik in waves. It wasn’t his fault he’d never taken it up the ass before. It was never his preference to. Magda and he had been together since he were a teenager. He vaguely understood how sex between two males worked but it’d never occurred to him that there would come a time where he’d have a cock inside him.  
  
Erik stayed there on his hands and knees, taking it pliantly as Charles grinded against his bottom, rolling ever leisurely.  
  
It did help eventually, and Erik could feel his muscles loosening; which was frightening to think about so he didn’t, letting it fall out from his mind immediately. Charles put a palm to the small of his back, the other on his right hip, giving him a squeeze. This was it. The signal. Erik readied himself for when Charles pulled out. Even then he was not fully prepared for the sensitized drag of skin against skin, or how they were joined only by Charles’ tip still remaining in him before Charles slammed inside him, causing him to cry out.  
  
Charles slipped out and went in again, thrusting in earnest now, using his ass for all that it was worth. Erik wished he’d drank more, the alcohol was already starting to wear off.  
  
Charles pounded into him hard and fast, pace brooking no room for gentleness. Erik twirled his fingers into the pillow, holding onto it for dear life. His body shifted upwards whenever Charles thrusted inside so he had to widen his stance and hold the headboard with one hand.  
  
Faster and faster, Charles diligently rammed his cock in. He lowered himself along the length of Erik’s back and mounted Erik. There was no tenderness in both their behaviours. Charles used him for the pure aspects of a tight, warm hole to fuck and Erik used Charles for the money that he came with. It was messy and rough, and Charles curled an arm around Erik’s waist to hold him close, press impossibly deeper within him. The pain was sharp, heightened prickling jabs that shot straight to his abdomen. But this was pain, and Erik was well acquainted with pain. He was determined to get through this. He laid there pliantly, loose limbed and limber boned. Along his back, Charles planted kisses down his spine, nipped contentedly across his skin, stretched and scarred, the same as Charles’, even worse, in fact. He was paying attention to the ones over Erik’s shoulder, licking over them like they were fascinating.  
  
“Where’d this one come from?” Charles asked, grunting a little when he plunged in.  
  
“Camp.” Erik winced. “I – fuck,” he broke off when Charles sank his teeth into a spot not too far from where he’d been stabbed by a German soldier with the bayonet. The scar wasn’t drastic, but fuck it still hurt. Charles kissed and licked him, soothing it.  
  
Charles wasn’t interested in his story anymore, and Erik had no wish to speak. Figuring he’d be allowed home if Charles finished quickly, Erik clenched down on him, hard, urging Charles forward. He pushed back whenever the other pistoned forward, timing it so that their pace matched. This was good, this pace had Charles panting and groaning into Erik’s nape. There were fingers in his hair that tugged sharply so that his head was forced back. The angle was uncomfortable and Charles shoved his chin and throat into the bed.  
  
For a while, Erik was kept like this, head down, ass up as he milked Charles’ cock, thinking that time couldn’t possibly go any slower. Then, Charles let go of his hair to hold his hips and—oh, Erik liked this much better. He still kept his head down and forcefully shoved his ass back against Charles, hoping for the life of him that Charles would be done soon.  
  
'Any time now,' he thought, as the rhythm began to falter. No longer as smooth and well-timed but no less urgent.  
  
The raw pain had eased and the mild blossoming pleasure was starting to become enjoyable. He wasn’t sure if he would climax. He looked down and saw that his cock had flagged and was only half hard. It hung limp between his legs, bouncing only when Charles fucked him hard. Yet, as Charles moved inside him, with him, his cock began to take interest in the proceedings and started to swell.  
  
Charles caught notice of this, reaching under to take him in hand and stroke.  
  
“Ahh—” The sound that came from his mouth startled him. He hadn’t meant for it to be so pleasured and needy. But there it was, prominent and very loud in his own ears. “Nghn… Charles…”  
  
There were words being spoken to him; Erik made them out to be, “Good boy,” whispered hot and resonant in the dip of his spine. Following it, the wet feel of a tongue licking out beads of sweat from where it’s pooled between. And then the press of a hot throb in him to remind Erik of where he was held down and fucked into like a whore.  
  
That was what he was, wasn’t it? A whore.  
  
The realization was rancorously laughable. He choked when Charles gripped and fisted him too hard, too rough, too eager. His cock was heavy and full and the familiar sensation of an impending orgasm had his balls tightening. Charles jerked him off quickly while Erik arched his hips into his hand, careening. Then, with a twist of Charles’ hand round the sensitive head of his cock, Erik was coming, jerking out spurts of white hot cum that streaked the duvet and bed sheets in less than artful brush strokes.  
  
Charles was still at it. Of course he would be. Erik prayed this would be over soon. His asshole was starting to hurt and he still wanted his bowels functioning in the long run. Thankfully, a few more thrusts was all it took for Charles to come, spilling inside him with a groan, pushing as deep as he could go to shoot his load into Erik.  
  
It was disgusting.  
  
The two were sticky with sweat and cum when Charles gave his hips a little roll. The last pulse of it shot inside him and leaked out from his hole simultaneously. He grinded his teeth together, staying absolutely still, unwilling to move an inch. He didn’t want to move. He felt filthy. The bed was filthy, the sheets were filthy, and now Erik was filthy. Dirtied. Used.  
  
“Are you alright?” Charles had the nerve to ask.  
  
Erik was silent. The answer was his and his alone. If he kept silent, he would have his dignity still. Although they both knew there was none left.  
  
Charles sighed, a little dejected, then pulled out his softening cock and flopped onto the bed. Erik straightened his back, slowly, stretching it after what felt like centuries of curling in on himself. His muscles were sore, and so was his used hole. Looking to Charles, Erik saw the man give him a grin. He couldn’t make out what that meant. It neither felt like smugness nor genuine happiness. Erik frowned at that.  
  
“Come give me a kiss.” Charles reached out for him.  
  
“And then I can leave?”  
  
A pause. Blue eyes blinking at him enchantingly. “No. You’re staying the night. I’m having someone bring us dinner. You keep to the Kosher dietary laws, yes?”  
  
Erik’s eyes widened. “Yes, I do.” Why was he not surprised Charles knew right from the very beginning.  
  
“That’s convenient then. I’ve already told the chef downstairs to prepare Kosher food. I hope you like beef. Our friend has been busying himself with my request to keep you full and satisfied for the evening. You’re far too thin, Erik.”  
  
“Satisfied?”  
  
“Hm? Are you not satisfied?” Charles tilted his head mockingly. “You did come after all.” He swirled his fingers into the pool of whiteness on the bed under where Erik was still curved around it. “And you’ll be having a wonderful dinner in a brief few moments. I dare say you’ve been thoroughly satisfied this evening.” He brought up two fingers to Erik’s mouth. “Don’t you agree?”  
  
Erik wanted to deny, to stand up and walk away. Instead, all he could manage was to stick his tongue out and suck when Charles smeared it against his lips. Filthy.  
  
“There’s a good boy,” Charles said, grinning. “Now come here and give me a kiss. You’ll hurt yourself if you remain hunched over like that.”  
  
Erik sucked a little more, cleaning those fingers free of cum. When that was done and he was satisfied—oh, how ironic—with the state of it, he pulled away and climbed toward Charles gingerly, his movements small. A hand grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him forward until Erik had to spread his legs and straddle Charles’ hips. In doing so, caused more seed to leak from his hole. He clenched down immediately, cheeks taking a shade of dark pink.  
  
“A kiss, if you will.” Charles tapped at plump lips.  
  
“And my money?” Erik asked.  
  
“You’ll get your money. But first.” Another tap.  
  
And then Erik leaned in and kissed.

*

He wasn’t that old that he’d have a difficult time performing at his newly acquired job with Charles, but he did feel old enough that running outside eighteen hours a day put bags under his eyes and lines into his face. If Magda saw him staring at himself in the mirror she’d go over and comfort him, telling him he wasn’t a day past twenty nine. She didn’t know the reason for his haggardness.  
  
It was two weeks later when Erik returned home to Magda throwing herself at him, holding him close and hugging him tight.  
  
“You got a promotion, I’m so proud of you!” She said in that odd accent of hers, a combination of Romani, Polish, a dash of Yiddish, and an amalgamation of the smaller European countries.  
  
“A promotion?” Erik soothed his hand down her back and then to her waist. It was thicker now. It could afford to thicken even more.  
  
“From your new position with your boss, Charles. He’s such a nice man.” She lifted her hand and waved a pouch before him, jangling it so that the coins and bills inside shifted with a jingle.  
  
Erik’s mouth went dry. He hadn’t gotten a promotion nor been told he’d been raised. And, he’d already gotten his promised money the morning after he and Charles had had sex. Charles had pulled out fifty pounds from his wallet and handed it to Erik, sending him off through the back door afterwards. The days had gone by and he hadn’t seen Charles since. This couldn’t possibly be right.  
  
“Where’d you get it?”  
  
“Someone had come by with a letter and gave it to me. Why? Is something wrong?” Magda’s eyes were full of concern.  
  
“Where’s the letter now?”  
  
She went off to the dining table and Erik followed. Picking up the letter, he noticed a little written note inside.  
  
“I can’t quite read it,” she admitted. “I’m still not too good with the English language.”  
  
The note read:  
  
Dear Erik, you’ve been working hard. Here’s some money for you to enjoy yourself over the weekend. You’re not required to come to work, but I expect to see you in my office on Monday, at one in the afternoon.  
  
Have fun.  
  
Charles F Xavier  
  
It made absolute jack shit sense. Erik squinted at the note and squinted some more. Then his stomach fell to the floor when he realized what was installed for him come Monday. He swallowed.  
  
Erik looked to the pouch in his hand. The money was his now, completely and fully. Charles had given it to him and now Magda was smiling like she couldn’t be prouder of him. Looking at her, Erik’s heart felt like it was shattering into pieces. She was so proud of him, completely oblivious to the type of business Erik had gotten himself into, unaware that Erik had slept with his boss, with a man, and that he’d been willing. So very willing.  
  
“Let’s go have dinner,” he said to break the worry that’d started to seep into her expression.  
  
“Oh, I haven’t cooked yet.” Magda peered at the kitchen, then back at Erik.  
  
“Not here. Let’s go out. Let’s have dinner outside. Us. You, me, Anya. We’ll eat out at a restaurant, like proper people with proper lives.” He cupped her face and carded his fingers through her long curly hair.  
  
Her face lit up and she pounced on him. “Oh, Ahuvi!” Erik preened at the endearment. “I’ll go wake Anya. Let me change into something presentable.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips then went off.  
  
Erik stood there alone in his apartment, glanced around and saw the improvements they’d done to it. There was a second hand book shelf in the corner, several fruits in the bowl on the dining table, a nice tea set he’d managed to get off a lady down the street who had no use for it, and there was food in the cabinets. Actual, tangible food. Magda had managed to sew Anya some new clothes from fabric bought at a cheap price and Erik had managed to buy himself a new pair of socks as a reward for all his hard work.

The place was better. Their lives were better. They were happier. They were okay. They will be for years to come…

Won’t they?  
  
“Papa!” Anya trotted over, throwing herself onto his leg and clinging to it. “Papa, we’re having dinner!” she said, as if he wasn’t the one to suggest it.  
  
“Yes mein Liebling, we’re going out for dinner. Are you ready to go?” He glanced over at both his child and his wife.  
  
At their subsequent nods and smiles, Erik couldn’t help himself from smiling too, laughing softly when Anya raised her arms, requesting to be hugged. Complying, he picked her up and found that she’d gained weight.  
  
“Oof, you’re heavy.” He pressed his nose against her cheek and she giggled, wriggling about in his arms.  
  
“Ready to leave?” Magda asked, holding his free hand and tangling their fingers together.  
  
“Yes.” Erik smiled, squeezing her smaller hand. “Let’s go.” Then they stepped out of the apartment and left.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you **kageillusionz** for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are our own.

“Change your clothes. Those won’t do at all.” Charles barely looked up as Erik entered the office. Erik was dressed as he always was. Sure, his slacks were threadbare and his shirt was hardly fashionable, but he didn’t look like a pauper. In fact, his wardrobe had only improved, albeit just barely, in the weeks since joining Xavier’s outfit. So what was suddenly so offensive about his attire?

“Get a move on,” Charles spat out as he rifled through papers on his desk. He was dressed in a deep green suit that only seemed to make his ruddy skin even more luminous. In comparison, Erik did look a bit of a mess.

As he appraised his own wardrobe selection once more, Erik suddenly felt foolish, still unclear why he was being made to feel self-conscious. “Why exactly am I changing clothes?” Erik asked, clearing his throat to hide the nervous tremble.

“Because we’re going out. And as delightful as your near see through garments are, love, you look rather unkempt.” Charles looked Erik up and down as he spoke, the wolfish glint in his eye obvious and vulgar; there were other people around!

The leer threw Erik off balance. He and his new employer hadn’t indulged in any further indiscretions during the weeks that followed their initial tryst. Much to Erik’s dismay, he found himself thinking about Charles often, drifting away while traversing the bustling London streets. He’d get sucked in by thoughts of the other man’s hands on him, rough and insistent. He found the pull of the memories intoxicating. They offered a delicious escape from Erik’s usual inner monologue. It was dark and cold in the recesses of Erik’s mind, and Charles had become a bright daydream.

Of course, thoughts of Xavier paled in comparison to those of Anya and Magda. His family was his universe, but thinking of them often ushered in the crushing pain and panic that Erik fought off every waking moment.

He was ashamed to label that drunken night with Charles as a pleasant memory, but it was. It was one of the few he’d made in his adult life. And now standing in the young mafioso’s shockingly cluttered office as he demanded Erik change clothes was making his palms sweat.

Erik wasn’t sure if he was excited or terrified. Since his inaugural “hit,” he’d mostly been running errands and performing equally menial tasks. The idea of “going out” with Charles thrilled him, but it also meant he’d most likely be getting his hands dirty.

As if sensing his internal struggle, Charles added, “I wasn’t asking.”

Erik swallowed hard.

“This is part of your job. If you’re to work for me, you are to obey me. Change your clothes.” Charles motioned to a pile balancing precariously on a small table. “They should fit. Although,” he paused, “you have been putting on a bit of weight.” Charles smiled wide, the sharp grin both playful and pointed.

Erik clutched his midsection, again feeling vulnerable and self conscious. Random people milled about, flowing like a stream through Xavier’s open door. Erik felt out of place, and dangerously on display. He practically leapt at the bundle of clothing, knocking over a book and a handful of assorted papers in the process. Charles clucked his tongue and arched an eyebrow.

“You can get dressed in the toilet down the hall.”

Erik ran his hand across the impossibly soft fabric. The linen felt like velvet between his fingertips and he was momentarily transfixed.

Charles cleared his throat. “Unless you want to do it right here?” he asked provocatively.

“Absolutely not,” Erik yelped, pleased that his tone sounded more firm and appalled than embarrassed. 

Once alone in the bathroom Erik exhaled deeply and flattened his hair. He had to get a grip; stop acting so jumpy. This was his reality: he worked for a man of questionable ethics and lied to his wife.

Erik’s heart clenched at the thought, but it was gone in an instant because his family was safe and fed, and that was all that mattered anymore.

He straightened the handsome slacks—they fit perfectly—and buttoned his shirt cuffs. The bright blue top was much louder than anything Erik had ever worn, and he felt like he was suffocating.

“This shirt is absurd, Charles,” Erik said upon re-entering the office.

“I think it looks rather dashing,” he replied with a smile. But it melted without warning, a steely seriousness replacing it. “You’re wearing it.”

“I hardly think this is a subtle look—”

“Erik, this isn’t a discussion. You’re wearing the clothes I so graciously provided you with, and that’s the end of it.”

Erik felt like a child being scolded and struggled to keep his increasing aggravation in check.

Charles added with a sigh, “I’ll compensate you on top of your regular weekly wage. For your trouble…”

“Thank you,” Erik mumbled, uncomfortable and still unsteady around his employer.

Charles fluttered out from behind his desk. He was bright and cheery and spun around once, showing off his fitted suit jacket. “You like?” he said, and twirled again.

Keeping up with Charles’ moods was challenging, and Erik often felt more than a few steps out of sync.

“It’s a well-made suit,” Erik gritted out, and Charles immediately frowned.

“That’s just barely a compliment. Someone should teach you how to court a gentleman.”

Erik opened his mouth to protest, but Charles just barreled forward.

“Aren’t you curious about where we’re going?”

Mouth still slightly agape, Erik turned to follow Charles as he suddenly bolted from the room. “Um, yes. Certainly. Where—”

Charles cut him off. “Wonderful of you to ask! We’re going to visit an associate of mine.”

“Just you and I?” Erik nearly tripped as he floundered after Charles. His boss seemed to float down the hallway as people fell over themselves to get out of his path. Erik was left scrambling in his wake, hyper aware of the eyes that followed him.

“Why, who else would we need?” Charles asked over his shoulder.

“Um,” Erik hesitated, “don’t you have people that do this kind of thing for you?”

“What exactly do you think we’re going to do?” Charles asked with a chuckle. “And,” he added, “what exactly do you think you do for me?”

Erik realized he had no idea, at least not a fully formed one. He had assumed it was some clandestine meeting or backroom deal—something above his pay grade. And he also assumed he was to be some low-level gofer. Not wanting to look ignorant of the business he was now a part of, Erik just shrugged.

“Well, you’re not wrong. I’d usually bring Logan with me. You know, for appearances.” Charles laughed again from deep in his chest. It rolled like thunder through the echoing hall.

But Erik didn’t know. He wasn’t sure what Charles meant, and he was almost positive he had never met any Logan. And appearances? Why the hell would Erik be a suitable replacement?

Charles pushed open the heavy door that led into an alley and paused so Erik could finally catch up.

Erik affected his most authoritative tone as he turned and looked Charles straight in the eye. “What exactly is expected of me tonight?” As the words exited his mouth he fought off the creeping blush that threatened to overtake his cheeks.

He was certain Charles saw it though, and his smirk was predatory.

Xavier shook it off, ever the professional. “Just stand there. I need another body. This should be a simple exchange. That being said, nothing is ever simple, is it, friend?”

Something about the way he uttered “friend” gave Erik goose bumps, so he asked the first thing that came to his mind: “Why not bring your sister?”

Erik would swear that the temperature in the alley dropped, and the moonless night somehow became darker. A storm brewed behind Charles’ glittering eyes, and Erik instantly regretted his query.

The words were firm and as sharp as knives, and as Charles spoke, Erik could see beads of sweat forming on the man’s upper lip. “I would never involve Raven in these affairs.” He narrowed his eyes, appraising Erik. “That’s why I employ trash like you.”

Charles’ heels clicked as he marched away from the building, and from Erik.

Dumbfounded, Erik felt frozen. The venom, the fierce bite to Xavier’s words conjured up a deep seated dread that Erik knew all too well. And in those words, as harsh and cruel as they were, Erik also felt Charles’ fear. It was as real and palpable as anything Erik had ever experienced himself. He saw embers of his own obsessive need to protect his family burning in Charles.

Erik’s curiosity abated instantly, and he felt a rush of empathy course through him. His feelings for Xavier were certainly complex. He didn’t trust him. He didn’t necessarily respect him. But for a brief moment, Erik understood him. Terror gripped Charles Xavier, wrapped its icy fingers around his throat, when he spoke of his sister.

Erik saw his own fear reflected in the highfalutin mob boss’s face, and he hurried after him as Charles slipped into the dense crowd covering the main street.

He fell into step wordlessly, and he could see the tension ease in Charles’ shoulders. His back became less rigid, and his strides slowed slightly. Erik didn’t speak as the two navigated the busy sidewalk, but he felt, real or imagined, a thread being woven between himself and Charles.

The night sky and the steady drone of strange conversations lulled Erik and he quickly stopped paying attention to their journey’s twists and turns. He was unsure of how long they’d been walking, and only returned to the present when Charles grabbed his wrist to keep him from walking past a large black metal door.

“We’re here,” he stated simply.

Erik wanted to know where “here” was, and he chastised himself for not paying closer attention. What if something went wrong and he had to hightail it out of there? Would he know how to get back to the club? How to get home?

It flashed in his mind, white-hot and terrifying: what if he had to kill someone?

But before Erik could fall down the well of his own fears and “what ifs,” Charles was disappearing through the darkened threshold, the heavy door slamming behind him.

Erik lunged for the knob and hauled the door open, taking a long step inside the innocuous building. He slammed into Charles, his chin jabbing the shorter man in the skull. Xavier barely acknowledged the jarring force, remaining steadfast and authoritative.

He peered over Charles’ shoulder as his boss spoke firmly to a small man seated on a stool. Erik couldn’t see the face, and his words got lost in the cap pulled down to cover it. He could only hear Charles clearly, and he did not seem happy.

“He’s expecting us, I assure you.”

“Eh, I’m sure he is, buddy. But he dinnit tell me nuthin’, so I ain’t lettin’ you in. Not till I talk to the boss.”

Charles grit his teeth. “While completely unnecessary, I encourage you to do so. I’m not keen on standing in this piss covered hallway much longer.”

The small man tilted his head slightly, but didn’t move from his seat.

Erik felt like he should be doing something, saying something, making this little toad respect _his_ boss. But any words died in his mouth. Erik lacked the conviction to yell at an ignorant peon relegated to door duty. And more to the point, he didn’t feel too far above the ugly, awkward thing perched on his stool. Who was Erik to make waves?

“Eh,” the man grumbled and hauled himself up. He was a head shorter than Charles, and Erik felt like a towering giant. He wanted to push the toadie down even as he glared up at Xavier through his hazy, cataract ridden eyes. But before he could give into his sudden desire to lash out, the man disappeared through another door.

“What is this, exactly?” Erik asked through the side of his mouth.

“I told you,” Charles replied without turning to face him, “we’re visiting an associate.”

“Does he know you’re coming?”

“Of course he does,” Charles said, almost offended. “I’m not some barbarian showing up unannounced.”

“Well what’s the deal with this guy,” Erik said, motioning to the empty stool.

“It happens every time. Chap’s a bit daft,” he trailed off, softly adding, “and maybe sort of blind.”

Erik was about to add his two cents, but immediately straightened up and clamped his mouth shut as the inner door creaked open.

The doorman poked his head into the small room trapped between the exit and the entrance, and motioned for the pair to move forward.

Once inside the building proper, Erik couldn’t help but stare in gape-mouthed wonder. The big main room looked like a hotel lobby, and there were couches scattered all over the open space. The walls were covered in doors of varying size and construct and there were women everywhere. They were in different stages of undress, some appearing frightfully young. Erik panicked.

The tiny man in the ugly hat pointed to a large door tucked in the corner almost totally obscured by the shadows. Charles blew right past him and sauntered confidently towards it.

Erik trailed behind, unwillingly to be left behind in the foreign land.

With a quick knock, Charles immediately turned the knob and pushed forward.

“Hello, Janos!” he announced cheerfully.

“Charles,” said the dour gentleman seated behind a large oak desk.

Charles turned to Erik and then back to the still-seated man. “Erik, this is Janos.”

“Mr. Quested,” he corrected matter-of-factly.

Charles arched an eyebrow. “Janos,” was all he said in reply.

Erik felt like a drowning man. He didn’t know where he was, or who he was addressing, and he was almost positive he was in some sort of brothel.

Janos, Mr. Quested, stood and walked around the desk. He held out his hand.

“Erik…?”

“Just Erik is enough,” Charles interrupted.

The two men glared at each other and Erik was forgotten, hand still hovering in a proffered shake.

Charles broke the mounting tension with a huge grin and a tight, almost imperceptible chuckle. “I’m sure you’re busy, so let’s get on with this,” he said, smile never slipping.

“Yes,” Janos answered solemnly. “I have many meetings at my other facilities tonight.”

“Mmm yes. I’m sure you do.” Charles replied smugly. “I’d be itching to get out of this place too. The ambiance leaves something to be desired.”

Janos ignored him. “So is our deal final?”

“I believe so.” Charles handed him an envelope as Erik just stood, gawking at the scene.

Janos thumb through the notes and tucked them in his jacket pocket. Erik only then realized how well dressed the man was. His suit was a rich gray, and his tie was as creamy and orange as the flesh of a peach. Erik was once again reminded of his absurd shocking blue shirt.

“We’re done,” Janos said as the silence wore on. His eyes slid to the door.

“A man of few words,” Charles cooed. “A pleasure as always. I’ll take good care of her.”

Erik’s head spun as Charles nudged him out of the room. Xavier prodded as they made their way back across the main room, where Erik saw a petite blonde disappear through one of the many doorways. A man with oil slicked hair and a rictus grin had his arm slung around her slight frame. Erik couldn’t push the thought of Anya out of his mind.

Once back on the street, Erik felt himself gasping for air, and without thinking exclaimed, “What the fuck was that?”

Charles sighed. It was a mournful sound, but Erik barely noticed. He was becoming more and more agitated with each passing moment.

“What was that, Charles?” Erik implored.

“It’s exactly what you think,” Charles exhaled as he ran his fingers through his chestnut hair.

“How could you possibly know what I’m thinking?” Erik shot out, repulsed.

“Well then, it’s exactly what it looks like.” Erik was silent. Charles was a blank slate. “It’s a whore house.”

Erik shook his head, bitterness on his tongue. “I mean, I should have figured.”

“What exactly?”

“That you’d frequent these sorts of places.”

Charles scoffed. “I don’t frequent these places.” He sounded as appalled as Erik.

“But you just bought a girl. Didn’t you?” Erik’s face was twisted into a mask of disgust and confusion. His naivetyleft him feeling both embarrassed and nauseous.

This was his life now. This was the man he worked for; the man whose attention made his pulse race and his skin hot like the onset of a fever. This was a man who literally bought and sold people.

“Oh, I didn’t buy anyone,” he chuckled. “I bought the whole place.”

Erik felt weak in the knees as they trudged back the way they came.

*

  
In the morning when Erik dropped in for work, he was hauled into Charles’ office to help sort the files and papers. They didn’t speak much for the duration that Erik worked and he was left to dwell on his thoughts. Occasionally, Charles would glance over at him as though he were waiting for him to ask questions about last night.

At one point, Charles even said, “You can you know, if you’re curious. I won’t take your life over a mere question. Besides, don’t you want to know more about the man you’re working for?”

“No,” Erik said as he stuck a label onto the spine of the file. “What you do with your life is no business of mine.”

Charles had a look like he were holding back his laughter but that quickly faded as he settled in to do the paperwork, scribbling and writing while he searched back and forth through several notes. What a revelation that the mafia even kept files and did paperwork. Maybe they even paid taxes. Who really knew anyway?

Erik went back to sorting, arranging the files from A-Z accordingly and losing himself in the mindless work.

Time flew by quickly like this and afternoon arrived before he even knew it. When asked whether Erik would like to go and have lunch, he replied that he wasn’t interested. This brought on an unfavourable reaction from Charles who insisted he eat since he was already too skinny for his own good. It wasn’t that Erik didn’t want to eat, it was simply that he didn’t like wasting money on such unnecessary things but Charles was having none of that today.

“You are aware that we have a kitchen, yes?” Charles’ voice lilted. Erik nodded. “Well then, why won’t you eat?”

“Because the kitchen staff comes from the restaurant you own and I don’t want to pay for the food.” G-d, now he felt like the poor child that sat alone at every recess staring longingly at other children’s lunch boxes. Except he never went to a normal school and never had anything such as recess. He was an uneducated sod who knew only the sound of the bell that rang through camp indicating another round of body search by the soldiers. He shut the cabinet drawer with more force than intended and it rattled loudly.

Charles chuckled, rumbling softly, breaking Erik out of his solemn mood. “Is that why you don’t eat?” Erik turned his head sideways, looking towards Charles’ direction. “Oh, Erik. You can be so adorable sometimes. I’ll simply let the staff know that your meals are on the house. It’s that simple.”

Erik blinked, eyes wide and surprised. “You’ll pay for it?” Food was expensive, and Erik was no one of any importance that his health might become Charles’ concern. And yet –

“Darling, I own the restaurant. I don’t pay for anything. It’s mine,” Charles laughed, his cheeks taking on a healthy glow. It was a good look on him, that light-heartedness he exuberated. “Bring your family if you want to. What’s a few more mouths compared to the time you put in at work anyway?”

“Alright,” Erik said, unsure at first before realizing the extent of such a privilege. The corners of his mouth curled into a grateful smile. “Thank you, Charles. I… I really appreciate it.”

Charles waved a hand dismissively. “Think nothing of it. You’re working for me after all. Whatever I decide you should get, you will get it. Now – ” Charles picked the fountain pen and scribbled something down onto paper. “If you would be so kind as to fetch me some tea?”

The tea set he got from downstairs was made from fine China that had gold linings decorating the rims. Erik put it down at the corner of the desk, unsurprised that Charles never even looked up when he indicated for Erik to pour the tea once it was steeped.

After which, Erik was back to doing admin work while Charles busied with the papers across his desk. Charles had a photograph in his hand. The lady in it had long black hair and was dark skinned, her eyes a smoldering intensity that all Erik could think of as he peered at it was the animal: Crow. The photo was slightly blurred but Erik could see her body arching a perfect bow against the pole.

“Who’s that?” Erik asked after he slotted the last file into its respective place.

“This,” Charles breathed out and tapped the photo with his pen. “Is Angel.”

Erik snorted. “Angel. Is that her stage name?”

“Not at all. That is her actual name. Or rather, it’s the name she chose for herself. She was an orphan, you see. She grew up without the knowledge of her given name.” Charles brought the teacup to his lips, blowing over it before sipping. “It’s the plight of us orphans. Especially those meaning to make a name for ourselves. We either change our names or we stick to it.” He hummed appreciatively at the soothing tea.

Erik’s attention was entirely on Charles now even though the subject at hand was Angel. But Charles had leaked a new piece of information that Erik wasn’t sure if the young boss noticed. 

“People change their names for many reasons. Sometimes it’s because they were unfortunate enough to have their uneducated parents name them something like... Virginia Gnores, for instance. It sounds more like a disease than a name, really.”

“Right,” Erik said, not really commenting on it. Though if asked, he’d have agreed that it wasn’t a very pretty name.

“Or for others who can’t remember their given names, like Angel, they simply choose one they like.” Charles made an enlightened face at the cup held before him. “There’s honey in this, isn’t there.”

Erik nodded. “Just a little.” He inched toward Charles a step but stayed close by the cabinets. “What about you then?”

“What _about_ me?”  Charles’ brow lifted.

“You uh, mentioned that you’re an orphan?” Erik kept his tone light. A moment ago, he had all but rejected Charles’ offer to let Erik ask his question and find out more about the mob boss yet now Erik was here, curious, hungry to know Charles’ life and his past. But no, this would be the only question he would allow himself to verbally ask. He would sate his curiosity afterwards and beat it back to hell. “I didn’t know that.”

Charles seemed as though he had a witty remark ready to fire but shut his mouth at the last minute. Instead, his set his cup down and his facial features pinched into a thoughtful expression. “No. There’s a lot of things you don’t know.” Erik imagined he could almost hear the silent words trailing behind that sentence: There’s a lot of things I don’t think I’ll ever let anyone know. “But yes, smart of you to pick that up. I am an orphan. Both my sister and I. We did know our parents though. They were scientists, brilliant people who worked hard all their lives.”

Erik’s eyes widened. Charles grinned. “Don’t look so shocked. Did you think they handed the business down to me?”

“Well – not really, no. But of all the occupations available, I didn’t think they’d be scientists,” he said. “It’s not a very common occupation.”

“It’s not the most common of occupations, certainly. Especially not for those whose children would ultimately end up in the mafia.” There was a sadness in Charles’ words that reflected plainly in his eyes. Charles covered it up with a smile, wistful and plain. Erik felt himself breathing a little harder, wondering what this surge of emotions was that tightened his chest and pushed his muscles forward so that he could do something treacherously stupid like comfort Charles. Charles Xavier; Renowned mafia boss with so much blood on his hands. He was a murderer, not a man with a misunderstood sad past. Erik held himself still and was thankful that Charles continued speaking, if only so Erik himself wouldn’t need to fill the empty silence that had reigned.

“They’d borrowed money for their projects, you see. They were researching on genetics and medication. The two of them were so very intelligent and astounding in their work,” he said, fondly. “I’ll never know what they were working on but I think if they’d completed it, they’d have been very successful in the subsequent years. I think the world would have benefited from it as well.

“Unfortunately, they died before they ever finished their project and later on my sister and I found out that the source of their money came from gangs up in London City. Naturally, the debts fell to us and so... now I’m here.” Another smile, this one stronger, brighter, but no less fake.

And then Charles stopped. He stopped talking about himself entirely.

Once more, silence held the space of the room and Erik was left floundering, grasping at what little knowledge he’d been imparted with.

Was that it? Surely there was more. What about the things that happened in between? How did Charles clear his debts?

These questions swam in his mind and prodded his mouth open, vying for him to ask more  but Charles had already gone on to another topic and Erik only barely held off clicking his tongue in irritation.

“I’m thinking of buying her over. Angel, that is. She’s a pretty girl. Those eyes of hers… they enrapture anyone who stares into them.” Like Medusa, Erik’s mind supplied him, a spike of hatred prickling under his skin. Maybe because Angel had interrupted Erik from finding out more about Charles, or maybe because he was angry at Xavier himself for cutting off midway through. Either way, he didn’t hold off the breath of air that escaped him, making it sound like an arrogant scoff.

“Of course you are.”

Charles’ reply was slow and measuring. “And what exactly do you mean by that, Erik?”

“Exactly as I said,” Erik amended quickly, careful to keep his words honest. “I told you, what you do in your free time is no business of mine. You want to buy her over, that’s your decision. I have no right to comment.” He searched around for anything he could busy himself with. “Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”

“No. Not at the moment.” Charles straightened, hands clasping together before him. “But I ask, why is it you have that look of disgust on your face?”

“Disgust?” Erik cleared his face immediately of any remaining expression. “I don’t have such a right as to feel remotely disgusted by you, or anyone for that matter.” He was trash, Charles had said so himself.

The muscle of Charles’ jaw twitched and his brows furrowed above two blue cerulean eyes. “Erik, you know who I am and the kind of business I get up to. You knew that and yet you came to me. I was the one to offer you a job into this life but _you_ were the one who accepted. You knew the kind of dirt your hands would be stained with but you hadn’t turned the money away.” Charles’ voice was so strong Erik felt himself sway on his feet.

“So. That being said. You can either wipe that look of disgust off your face or tell me why you are so bothered by it. And please, if you’re going to do the latter, at least make it good.”

The room felt small and stifling and Erik opened his mouth to speak but closed it at the last moment. The scenes from the brothel replayed in his head. The nonchalance of Charles’ behaviour as he slipped the letter over to that Janos person without so much as a flinch of nervousness in the muscles of his body. Charles was right. Erik had full control of his actions when he joined The Greyhounds and if he wanted to keep his job, he would best learn to shut his mouth in the future about these matters.

“Erik,” Charles called when Erik had gone quiet. “Erik, come here, please.”

Obediently, Erik went over, standing before the desk as Charles appraised him. Hands behind him as Charles had taught; a neutral posture Charles found least offensive. Erik kept his gaze straight, a streak of defiance burning in his blood.

“Look at me, Erik.”

Erik kept his head up. If Charles were in front of him he’d likely have grabbed Erik’s hair and roughly tugged him down, forcing their eyes to meet. The image sent a jolt of hot electric heat running down his spine, making him warm and excited.

“Darling, don’t make me repeat myself.”

Slowly, with his nostrils flaring, Erik tipped his head down.

A smile pulled at Charles’ lips.

“Much better.” Satisfaction wore itself smug on Charles’ face. “Now tell me, is there something wrong? What brought on this sudden disobedience?”

Erik had always been a troublemaker even in the camps. It was the reason for the many scars across his skin. Finally, he settled for, “Nothing,” exhaling softly in relief when Charles let it slide.

“Well, now that that’s settled. Could you go fetch Raven for me, please?”

“I thought you didn’t include your sister in these type of dealings?” Erik’s brow raised.

“I don’t. But Angel is a special case.”

Erik left it alone at that, leaving Charles to his own devices as he exited the room. He was getting better at navigating the building and found Raven huddled up in the place Charles and he had sat and drank alcohol that night. Raven lounged at the couch and was reading the newspapers. Erik cleared his throat, announcing his presence before entering.

Raven was wearing something simpler today: A well-fitted white blouse, tailored trousers and suspenders. In what little time he’d gotten to know her, he’d learned that her fashion sense was versatile, switching fluently between ideal femininity and casual male clothing. He’d thought it strange at first how some days she’d be decked out in tight dresses, yet on other days prefer the comfort of being able to sit and relax in a manner that didn’t require her to keep her spine straight and her legs crossed.

“Has my brother finally sent you away?” Raven’s gaze never left the newspaper, seamlessly going from one line of text to the next.

“Yes.” Erik came toward her, standing in front of her relaxed form. “He requires your presence.”

“He requires your presence,” Raven mocked in a terribly done accent that Erik supposed was meant to resemble his.

Inwardly, he shrugged. It could have been worse. “He wants to see you.”

“Why?”

“Some girl named Angel.”

“Oh. Angel huh.” She was hesitant to get up and took a long time folding the papers. “Could you leave me alone for a while? Tell Charles I’ll be there in ten minutes or so. I need some time to think.”

“Of course.” Erik often felt like a butler in Raven’s company, as opposed to Charles whom he didn’t know what he _should_ feel at all around him – didn’t clearly know what his purpose was and what his status was. With Raven, at least, the lines were clear.

He transmitted the message to Charles and was afterwards dismissed with a list of tasks and jobs to do.

  
*

Janos was the representative for the brothel Charles had his sights on.

“I’m terribly sorry, Charles, Mr Evington simply isn’t interested in selling it,” Janos explained for the fifth time that evening.

Charles was near ready to rip his hair out or to pull the gun from his holster and shoot Janos down. It was one or the other. Now they only had to wait to see if Charles’ patience was good enough to go for another round of negotiations.

They had been in this meeting for an hour now, the longest one yet since Charles had decided on buying Angel over. At first, the plan had been to buy only Angel, but Mr Evington had declined the, frankly, very generous offer. Erik thought Evington was fuck stupid, truly, but perhaps Angel had a value that made her more precious than the worth of burnable paper.

They’d returned the next day to strike another deal with Janos, an agent between several gangs and the others. Some gangs thought it was a ‘modern’ way of making deals. Frankly, it was a waste of time, as evidenced from the multiple trips down to the brothel. Charles offered to buy the entire whore house and still was rejected.

Erik stood steadfastly by Charles’ side, wondering where the previous bodyguard had gone to. Logan, was it? Where the fuck was Logan now? Erik had been standing in for weeks already. Not that he minded it all that much – he got to learn more about the inner workings of the mafia and had picked up several business pointers along the way but still, constantly having to listen to Janos speak was irritating the hell out of him.

“Maybe you should let me speak with Mr Evington myself. I’m sure we can come to an agreement then,” Charles said, venom lacing his words, threatening. Erik would roll his eyes if he could. Every time Charles came to a blockage he would use first with flattery, and then words, and when all else failed, he would threaten. It was starting to lose its effect.

It was obvious that Janos wasn’t too affected by it either. Then again, Janos had been dealing with Charles for a very long time now. They could almost be thought of as friends.

“You know how Evington is like; he doesn’t like meeting others. He prefers the company of his own solitude. He’s an old man, Charles. He’s not into such… confrontational meetings. He likes to take things slow now. You understand.”

“No,” Charles said. Erik’s brow raised. “He should quit the mafia then. Retire to the outskirts of London. Go to Scotland and raise sheep instead of being involved in sex, drugs and money.”

Charles stood unceremoniously, ungraceful and uncaring. He’d lost all patience and was this close to pulling the gun on Janos.

“Erik?” Charles snapped as Erik turned to look a last time at Janos who only shook his head in a disappointed manner.

“We should go straight to Evington,” Erik said as they came out of the diner to a chorus of, ‘have a good day,’ from the waiters. This was Evington’s diner. Charles would have possibly preferred to handle the dealing at his own restaurant but his boss wasn’t holding the upper hand in this case and was at the mercy of Evington. “We can deal directly with him.”

“We can’t go to him if we don’t know where he is.” Charles was resolutely not stomping out into the streets but the ferocity of his walk more than made up for it.

“Erik, get in,” Charles said, sliding into the back seat of the car.  
  
Erik already had one foot on the mat and was settling comfortably next to Charles. “What do you think I’m doing?” Erik said with perhaps a little too much cockiness that somehow didn’t garner a reaction from Charles. On normal days he would have been retorted with a snarky comment but today silence was the only thing to greet him.

“You should pay one of your subordinates to find Evington’s current location. If he’s still in business he’ll definitely be around. Or maybe buy out Janos’ friends, ask them if they’ve seen him,” Erik suggested.

“Connor, drive home,” Charles instructed the chauffeur, pointedly ignoring Erik.

The car started up and sped down the road. Charles relaxed back against the black cushion, gaze cast outside to the blur of humans and lamp lights they were travelling past. His mouth was pressed thin and his jaw held tight. They were silent for long enough that Erik had put the conversation behind them already.

“I’ve already done that,” Charles said suddenly. “Don’t you think that’s the first thing I would’ve done the second Janos rejected my offer?” Charles’ voice was strained in a way that Erik had never heard before.

“So you’ve tried buying out Janos’ friends and they didn’t budge?”  
  
With enough money, surely any normal human being would let themselves fall to temptation, even if friendship and trust were broken. Erik was a prime example himself of a human bought over by money and he knew that despite Janos’ status, not all of his friends would have such equal wealth. The few that didn’t would seek out Charles’ offer like flies to honey. “We should try harder. I can do it for you. I’ll go with Alex. He knows a few people. It’ll be easier to find a loophole if it’s just me and him asking around.”

“Don’t waste your time,” Charles said. “I’ve sent him before. Him and his brother both. I think I know my own lackeys better than you do, Erik. But thank you for the input.”

The car swerved erratically at a corner and the chauffeur blared its horn at the children absent-mindedly running across the street, oblivious to the dangers of the roads. Erik saw Charles’ smaller body sliding across the seat at the hard curve and so reached out to steady him, his arm curled around Charles’ frame as Charles pressed up against him. A warm strong presence. Automatically, he squeezed Charles’ shoulder, pulling the slighter man into his embrace.

Usually unhindered by contact, Charles pulled away like he’d been burned. Erik wondered at the change in the man’s behaviour but didn’t think too much of it, filled as Charles was with frustration and irritation at the failed transaction, it was no wonder he was fraying at the seams.

“Is there anything else we can do? Anything I can do?” Erik asked.

Charles sighed. “No, Erik. There isn’t anything you can do. Now, for the love of god, if you cannot come up with something constructive I suggest you put a lid on it.”

Being in Charles’ company for weeks now had made it possible for Erik to differentiate between an empty threat and one that held weight. What astounded him was that Charles seemed resigned, like he had given up.

If the many meetings between Charles and Janos had been anything, persistence was high up in Charles’ personality traits, along with stubbornness and an irate sense of pride. Charles liked to win. And when he put his mind to it, there was perpetually nothing beyond his reach. Yet, here Charles was, simply… resigned.

Erik’s features twisted into discomfort; just a little disappointed with his boss.

“That’s it then. You’re giving up,” Erik said. The car drove into a smaller lane that lead to a relatively remote area of the city, people steadily becoming a scarce sight as the spaces between one house to the next increased.

“I’m not giving up,” was all Charles said. He turned away and Erik could do nothing else.

Erik looked the other direction and glanced outside where the vehicle was driving through large metal gates and circling around the fountain once before coming to a stop.

Charles got out and slammed the door shut hard enough to shake the vehicle. Erik’s brow creased and he looked to the chauffeur, seeking advice on how to handle the situation but was rewarded with a disinterested shrug of his shoulders.

How very helpful.

Chasing after Charles, Erik strode through the doors of the mansion – a mansion, surely, considering the acre of land the home stood upon. An array of blue and purple flowers lined the neatly tended garden and a lady gave Erik a little bemused smile and the smallest of waves before returning to water the plants.

Inside, Erik was attacked by the butler who fussed at his black jacket and attempted to take it from him. He snarled, keeping the item close. He wouldn’t let anyone take his leather jacket if it killed him.

It wasn’t until Erik had wrestled the butler away that he actually had time to examine the place in all its exuberant and opulent glory. A chandelier hanging from the ceiling, carpets lining the floor, wallpaper on every coverable surface, and a butler to top it all off. Many paintings he recognized were the ones missing from the several Auction houses not merely from London but from Scotland as well; Charles seemed to enjoy dealing with art pieces and hung the masterpieces proudly in his home.

“Erik,” Charles’ voice echoed through the hall. The man was on the top steps of the stairs looking down at Erik. “Come up to my room.”

“Yes,” Erik murmured, exhausted with Charles’ behaviour. His legs dragged heavily up each treacherous step until he could find his way to the second floor. One of the doors was ajar. He went inside and was immediately pressed up against the hard surface of the wall.

Their teeth clanked painfully against each other’s and Erik tried to wrench away with no luck. The soft feel of lips were barely noticeable, not when Charles was biting him, his actions forceful and his movements rough as he pried Erik’s mouth open with his tongue.

“Charl—mmph.”

Erik hated it when Charles was like this, rough and insistent – which was always. Charles was never gentle with him but then Erik wasn’t paid to be pampered on like a lover.

“Sex,” Charles panted between rough kisses. “Get on your knees.”

“Not even on the bed?” Erik murmured. “You’re getting impatient.”

A growl came forth Charles’ chest. “I’m not in the mood for games, Erik. Get on your knees.”

Charles planted his palms flat on Erik’s shoulders and forced him to the ground. Erik’s knees buckled instantly. He was unprepared for the force with which Charles handled him. The man had never been gentle, but this insistence and rage was something new entirely.

Erik couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done.

The question preoccupied him for only a moment. Charles had leant down and was tugging Erik’s clothes off while biting at his collar bone. Erik moaned and arched into the warm mouth covering his throat. Through half-closed eyes Erik could see Charles struggling with his own clothing. His boss was quite the multi-tasker.

Erik reached up to help Charles disrobe. His fingers groped at the lush pinstripe suit and he yanked the trousers towards the floor. Charles bit down hard, his teeth grinding against the tender skin of Erik’s throat. The bite was followed by a guttural growl, and Erik could feel Charles sneer, face still buried in his neck.

“You think you’re in charge now?” Charles slurred, spit swinging from his lips.

Erik clutched the carpet like it was an anchor. His head swam. The heat and electricity in the room was palpable. It thinned his blood and made him dizzy.

“Answer me.” Charles ground out, voice thick with anger and lust. “Are you my partner in crime? Offering me advice?” He punctuated the question with a sharp nip to the skin just below Erik’s ear.

Erik remained silent, small gasps of air the only thing escaping his parted lips.

“Answer me!” Charles shot out, pulling his head away to look Erik in his eyes.

But Erik couldn’t answer. He just sat in the middle of the floor, hair askew and clothes half removed. Charles grinned a mischievous grin. His eyes crinkled at the corners and only then did Erik notice how pale blue and soulless they had become.

Charles dipped his head slightly. His tongue darted out and he licked the tip of Erik’s nose.

A shiver raced through his body as goose bumps covered his bared skin, and it took all of Erik’s strength to stay still. He longed to reach up and tangle his fingers in Charles’ tousled hair. Erik’s hand twitched as he dug his nails into the carpet.

Charles’ grin grew wider. “What do you want, my friend?” He chuckled hoarsely. “Do you want me?”

Erik said nothing, forcing himself to keep eye contact. He was mesmerized by Xavier. He was acting erratic and unhinged, but Erik found it breathtaking.

“So quiet now.” Charles brushed his hand across Erik’s flushed cheek. “You were so noisy on the way back here. I thought that was your role now. I thought you were the resident busybody.” With eyes still locked, Charles reached for Erik’s crotch, undoing the fly and reaching to grab hold of his dick. He hummed appreciatively. “Are you keen on telling me how to run my business? Hmm?”

Charles gripped Erik harder, making him moan. “Answer me, please, Erik. You had so many tales to tell just a bit earlier.”

He was mocking Erik, but even as every cell in Erik’s body screamed for retreat, for outrage, he just couldn’t summon anything but desperate need.

He moaned again, louder and more guttural, as Charles dragged Erik’s trousers and underwear until they were stretched around his thighs. “Do you want me?” Charles whispered as he abandoned Erik’s arousal and rose slightly to remove the rest of his own clothes. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

Charles sat on the floor, back against the wall. His creamy white skin looked like porcelain against the thick green rug. He crooked his finger and beckoned Erik over. Erik looked about self consciously before kicking off his pants and underwear and tentatively crawling across the short distance that separated them.

“Sit in my lap,” Charles commanded. “And tell me you want me to fuck you.”

Erik hesitantly placed a knee on each side of Charles’ thighs, but remained hovering above him, unwilling to initiate contact.

Charles grabbed Erik’s shoulders and pulled him down. Xavier’s hard cock pressed against Erik’s ass, while his own erection became trapped against Charles’ chest. Erik’s breath was ragged and hot against the side of the smaller man’s face. His head swam as their skin dragged and rubbed. The scent of Xavier was intoxicating. He reeked of sandalwood and power. He smelled like control. Erik was desperate for it.

“Oh, you want it, don’t you?” Charles exhaled in a sing song tone. “Just tell me you want it, Erik.”

Erik groaned, his forehead pressed against the wall. His hips bucked and he thrust blindly against Charles’ pale stomach.

“Just tell me, love. And I’ll give it to you,” Xavier cooed.

“I want it,” Erik murmured tersely.

“Want what?” Charles teased.

Erik thrust his hips again, banging Charles’ head into the plaster wall. “You,” he exhaled. “You to fuck me.” A blush crept across Erik’s chest and neck. His teeth were grit and his head hung in shame, but his hips still rocked, desperately seeking friction.

“That’s a good fellow.”

Charles’ praise made Erik feel like he was floating, and the head of Charles’ cock against his hole made him boneless. He struggled to take in air.

Erik heard the wet slapping of spit on skin. He could feel Charles shifting beneath him, and by the time Erik was composed enough to grasp what was going on, he was rendered mute again. Charles pushed his saliva-slicked cock into Erik in one motion, growling as he went.

Erik’s head fell back and his mouth gaped open as an unearthly howl slithered from his throat. Charles braced his feet on the floor and snapped his hips up to meet Erik’s body. The room echoed with this sound of moist, slapping flesh. The wet suction of Erik’s accommodating asshole was obscene and hung in the humid air.

“Is this what you wanted?” Charles grunted, his sweat dappled skin shimmering in the room’s low light.

Erik didn’t—couldn’t—answer. He felt like he was underwater—in a fishbowl. It was as though he was observing the scene from afar, through a lens. But everything was bright and sharp and magnified. Pain rang out from his knees as they ground against the carpet fibers. His hands ached from being clenched into fists. Erik felt so far away, so small, and Charles seemed like a giant beneath him. Erik’s dripping cock was an afterthought.

Charles’ movements became erratic and Erik had to brace himself against the wall. Low, short grunts were paired with Charles’ fingernails dragging down Erik’s back. Their bodies bucked wildly, and Erik tentatively removed his hand from where it was pawing at the wall. It crept down his torso and just as his fingers began to wrap around his own cock, Charles slapped it away as he cried out. With one final violent spasm, Charles’ hips arched up, nearly throwing Erik to the side.

Still panting raggedly, Charles pulled his knees towards his chest. Erik was left off balance and fell backwards, landing on his sore behind as he sat awkwardly positioned on the floor.

Erik reached out, fingertips barely brushing Charles’ ankle.

Clearly spent and covered in a salty, sweaty film, Charles stood nonchalantly, and began collecting his clothes.

Erik was naked, rock hard, and very confused.

“We’re done?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.

Charles let out a mocking chortle. He motioned towards his crotch. “Unless you wanted to clean me off.” Charles turned away without waiting for an answer, and Erik was grateful for it.

He felt used and dejected, two emotions he’d stopped registering long ago. Erik slowly gathered his clothing from where they lay strewn around him and brought them to his chest. He glanced up at Charles, who was shrugging on his suit jacket. As if sensing the eyes on him, Charles called over his shoulder, “Feel free to finish yourself off.”

Without looking back at Erik still huddled on the floor, Charles slipped out the door, shutting it softly.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you **Kageillusionz** for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are our own.

Sunday morning saw Erik in the mansion having breakfast with Raven. They were in the kitchen, seated at the small table tucked neatly against the wall. There was a selection of toast, bacon, eggs, tea and scones spread out across the surface of the table.

“So your opinion of brothels is that it’s bad and you don’t like it,” Raven murmured, words muffled as she bit off half a scone. “Given the opportunity, you’d rather every last one of them burned down if you wouldn’t get your ass thrown into jail for damage of private property. I say private as in ‘not owned by the government’, and I say property in reference to the girls, not the buildings.”

“I have a daughter. The mere thought of her being kidnapped and sold to such a place so that disgusting, dirty fucks can put their hands on her and -- ” The scrambled eggs turned rancid in Erik’s mouth. The scene at the brothel remained etched in his mind. He could still see the downcast look the blonde girl had as her client squeezed her shoulder and pulled her closer to him, the tension in her body screamed her discomfort but it was unfortunately ignored when Charles bought the place over and continued the business.

“Yeah, but I mean, it’s just a brothel. I almost got sold to a whore house once. No big deal.” Raven shrugged. “Anyways, your daughter is way too young to be fucked. I mean, she’s five. No one’s that bat shit crazy to fuck a five year old.”

Erik choked at the imagery of it and Raven laughed cruelly. He recalled the events of the day and how it had lead to them discussing such an issue but couldn’t remember. No doubt, she would be a valuable asset at business meetings, easily coaxing the conversation in any direction she wanted it to go without anyone noticing until it was far too late. Erik felt like a mouse trapped in a spider’s web. He wanted to talk about anything but this. His fists clenched where they rested atop the table, and Raven must have noticed this for her face lit up with juvenile glee.

“Lighten up, it’s all hypothetical. I’m not saying she’s going to be sold into a brothel, fucked senseless, and beaten to near death, but she could be.” Raven finished her scone and popped the tip of her thumb into her mouth, licking off the crumbs. “Though if she _were_ it’s not that bad! They’ll nurse her to health and she’ll be back on her tiny little feet before she knew it. See? Not that bad at all. She might have to take several men a night and the pain might become so excruciating she needs painkillers for it... but like I said, it’s just sex. She still lives.”

The hairs on his arms rose at the sordid scene Raven described. He turned away from her, physically blocking her out if he couldn’t mentally do so. It was disconcerting how Raven spoke of such matters so casually and without remorse, even more so when the subject at hand was Anya.

Erik hunched his shoulders, skin prickling uncomfortably as he explained, “It’s not just about surviving. I want her to _live_.” Freely and without shackles. He wanted Anya to attend classes, to have an education, to have the freedom to do as she pleased.

Not to serve men who will abuse her as though she was of less worth than the dirt beneath their feet.

“I want to give her the best that I can. I’ll do anything for her,” Erik said, determined.

“That includes taking her ‘place’, right?” Raven lifted her cup and drank from it, hiding a wry smile behind the porcelain rim.

Erik’s heart lurched into his mouth. Unsure if she was referring to the sexual agreement between him and Charles, or if she meant that of his life with The Greyhounds. Ungluing his tongue from the top of his mouth, he mumbled, “Yeah, wouldn’t want her to get into such a life.”

“Such nobleness.” She rolled her eyes. “You make it sound like your time with us is so fucking terrible. So you get less sleep and a few more nights out running around London, but isn’t it worth it for the money?”

Erik’s body visibly relaxed as he sank back into his chair. It was odd how much of a relief it was that she didn’t know what he and Charles were doing together. A part of him knew it was because of how young Raven was and how much she reminded him of Anya. He managed a smile and said, “I suppose it is worth the bruises and the muscle aches. I wish Charles wouldn’t keep me up outside of business hours though, I loathe to keep my wife worried whenever I don’t inform her beforehand that I’ll be back late. I try not to make her stay up and wait for me, but she does so anyway.”

“She’ll be fine,” Raven drawled, coming back to the previous topic suddenly, “Your daughter though…” Erik’s throat felt dry and he swallowed with difficulty. “She’s young, but I’m sure she’s tough, just like her father.”

“Thanks,” Erik said. His teeth ground together as he took in deep breaths. There was a tight constriction in his chest that he tried to ignore but it squeezed his lungs with a vengeance. He wish she’d drop the topic altogether. No such luck.

“So what if someone fucks her up, she’s still gonna live.” Raven’s eyes gleamed sickeningly bright as she cheerily went on, “There are girls who’ve had far worse done to them, sex is the least of their problems. These girls are starved and beaten, mentally tortured day in and out. They have it far worse than your daughter ever will.”

“It’s not just -- ” Erik made a frustrated sound. “It’s rape, and it is not okay!”

“It’s just sex. I almost got raped once.” Raven shrugged, jostling her blonde hair as her shoulders rose and fell.

“You being raped and my daughter being raped is different,” he spat, hackles raised and lips curling into a snarl before he could stop himself.

Raven’s eyes were wide when she blinked them, seemingly surprised by Erik’s statement. She crossed her arms and leant forward over the table, one brow arching high. “And what do you mean by that? I’m not human enough to be cared about, is it?”

He couldn’t determine Raven’s mood. She wasn’t outright furious nor upset. Her face was inexpressive, no hint of emotion there save for the fire in her eyes that was hard to interpret. If there was a right answer to give, Erik didn’t know it.

Gathering himself, he pressed his mouth into a thin line. “That’s not what I meant!” he started, feeling cornered and defenseless, “Anya is my daughter. I love her. I don’t know why you keep trying to -- ”

Provoke me. Insult me. Rile me up. There was no way of putting this across without making it sound like an accusation, like Raven’s joy was to constantly find weaknesses in Erik’s life and prod it over and over again. Maybe Raven enjoyed doling out such torment. It certainly didn’t work in Erik’s favour. He bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to calm down enough to continue speaking. “My daughter is my flesh and blood. I’m not going to lie and say that you matter as much to me because you don’t. You’re Charles’ sister. I work for Charles, so I work for you too. You two are my bosses. But Anya, Magda… they are my family and they will always come first. This will not change now nor will it ever in the future.”

Raven remained quiet. Erik could almost see the clockwork of her mind spinning, calculating. He wanted desperately for this tedious conversation to end but now it was possible he had broken the dam to an even larger argument. He tried to placate her. “I don’t mean to offend you but Anya -- ”

“Yeah, I get it. I’m just pulling your leg,” She waved a dismissive hand at him, sitting back down with finality. She helped herself to another slice of toast, folding it in half and adding a piece of bacon between. “I wanted to see how you’d react.”

“You wanted to -- ” Erik bit on his tongue, suddenly furious. His right arm was tense and he realized he’d have attacked her if she’d pushed him any further. And yet, he was too jittery and nervous to see the action through. He released the tight clench of his hand and swallowed down any violent impulses so that he could deal with it at his own time and space.

“It’s nice to realize there are still honest men in this business.” She smiled appreciatively.

“Thanks,” was all he said, unintentionally dragging out the last consonant into a hiss. Those in the mafia were truly messed up in the head.

“You know, if I were still that angsty kid hung up on my ruined childhood, I’d probably have slapped you for it. It’s a good thing I’m not anymore, so I can understand your defensiveness. I’m not your flesh and blood and you hardly know me. Anya’s your child and you love her. I get it. You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that. But don’t let Charles hear you say that to me, he’ll put two bullets through either eye socket for disrespecting me.”

At this point Erik wouldn’t mind Charles burying two bullets into his eyes so he could stop listening to her entirely. Straining a smile, he said, “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Good,” Raven said, then returned to her breakfast.

The room fell quiet then, which Erik was eternally grateful for. A moment of silence with neither of their voices filling the small kitchen was a nice change. It felt like they’d been engaged in a long debate the entire morning and Erik was more than ready to simply finish up his breakfast in peace. Raven pulled out the newspapers and flipped through them idly and Erik started on his eggs again, scraping the plate clean of any remaining scraps.

The silence didn’t last, much to Erik’s dismay, and he sighed as he met her gaze.

“What do you think of Charles?” She blinked her blue eyes at him, playing at innocence much like the way Charles sometimes did when he was in one of his better moods.

“In the little time I’ve known him, he’s been hard--”

“Hard eh?” Her brows rose in a teasing manner.

“-- to deal with.” He refrained from rolling his eyes at her. “He’s very difficult to communicate with.” He stretched his feet out beneath the table, a huff of breath escaping through his parted lips. Having not moved all morning had made his limbs stiff. He lifted one foot to rest his ankle atop his thigh. “I just don’t know what goes on in his head. It’s difficult to be around him. If my behaviour isn’t to his liking, he won’t be kind when he rectifies it. Sometimes it seems like he can be so nice, so normal. And other times he’s entirely out of reach, beyond comprehension. I… don’t exactly know what he wants of me.”

“You’re not the only one,” Raven snorted. “Charles and I had tough childhoods, you know that.” She put her elbow on the table, cupping her chin in her hand. “It shouldn’t come as a surprise that either one of us is a bit fucked up in the head.”

“I’m not, actually. I think it’s safe to say that anyone in this line of business has certain _issues_ ,” he said wryly. “I’ve kind of learned to accept it. It doesn’t make him any less difficult to communicate with though. Especially since I’ve become something of a personal valet to him.”

Raven giggled at that. “Personal valet. There are reasons for his behaviour you know. Mine too. I’m not supposed to tell you anything Charles related, but… ”

“But you are going to tell me anyways,” Erik said, bearing it down as a statement, not a question. Raven had been revealing a lot about herself the past few weeks. Even without pushing her for more of the siblings’ history, he’d already felt like he knew enough just from their daily interactions to understand either’s morals and beliefs. Perhaps she was comfortable in his presence. Or the lack of one; Erik didn’t exactly command people’s attention when he stepped into rooms. “Charles isn’t going to be happy with this. Aren’t you always saying how paranoid he is that outsiders use such information against you both?”

“Yeah, but you won’t betray us,” Raven said, wrinkling her nose. “You’re not the kind. I can tell.”

Erik’s head tilted sideways.

“I’ve been hanging around fucked up people my entire life, Erik. I know when someone’s disloyal and when they’re not. You’re not going to betray us.” Raven smirked self-satisfactorily.

Erik merely hummed, passing it off as an oath to secrecy.

She cleared her throat. “I mentioned earlier on about almost being sold to a brothel, right? Well, there was a fuckton of things Charles had to do to save me from it. Has Charles mentioned about a gang named Claymore?”

“Not that I can remember. Is this something from the secretive book of the Xavier Siblings’ History? Charles doesn’t like to share it with me. I’m sure he thinks I’ll spoil it with my peasant hands,” he said self-deprecatingly. “All I know is that your parents were scientists and well -- ” They both knew the ending to that story.

“Yeah. Our parents were researching on something but the government banks wouldn’t fund their project so they had to get the money through other illegal means. I really wish they had given up the project altogether, but instead they took up loans with this gang called Claymore. And then...”

“There was an explosion and then your parents died. Leaving you two in the hands of Claymore?”

“Mhm. The gang had someone come down from the police station to collect us. They took us in, questioned us on the whereabouts of the Xavier safety box. They’re asking a couple of kids where the fucking money was. We had no clue where in the house Mom and Dad hid it. As if we spent a lot of time with them when they were always locked up in the basement researching,” Raven said, viciously biting her words out. “But, I digress. Claymore didn’t get their money back and now they had two spoilt brats to deal with. So they did what they had to to recoup their losses: they sold me off to the highest bidding pedophile out there.”

Erik’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like the way his stomach was twisting into a knot, nor the way the air around them seemed to grow still and cold. But he was a good listener if nothing else, and he sat there without comment.

“I can still remember being dragged away from Charles, how it felt like when his fingers slipped out from my hand, watching them hold Charles back as he thrashed and screamed and begged.” Raven’s mouth twisted into an odd facade of a smile, showing more grief than she was allowing into her words.

“I could hear them speaking with my potential buyer, telling him how docile I’d be in bed, how I wouldn’t fight. It’s true, I never fought the beatings and I never said no when told to do simple tasks like sweeping the floor, or washing the dishes. It’s much better being helpful than lying around in bed every day of the week. I think I developed Stockholm Syndrome for a while,” she said with an understanding tone, like she’d considered it for a long time and finally came to that conclusion. “My parents were gone, yes, but at least I had food, a bed to sleep in, and Charles. I had Charles. I thought that was all I needed.” One of the servants walked in to retrieve a pot of water but if she heard the man’s footsteps, she showed no signs of it.

“My new owner was...” she bit at her lower lip, pondering for a moment before continuing, “He was a large man. Or maybe I was small. He felt like a giant when I looked up. Large and burly and ginger. I remember him being ginger.” She scoffed. “He towered over me. Then, he smiled. He had such an infectious smile even I was affected by it. Some people just look so nice, like you can really trust them, you know? And I think that at that time… when he smiled at me like that, I really trusted him.”

Erik couldn’t imagine what it was like to simply trust someone. What childish gullibility he had was beaten out of him at an early age. There was never a time where he simply believed someone could be good. To him, everyone was a threat unless they proved otherwise. He watched her body; she had closed in on herself, impossibly younger and child-like now.

“He put his hand on my head and patted me. He ran his fingers through my hair and said, ‘Do you like this? Me petting your head? It’s nice, isn’t it? Feels nice?’ And it was. It did feel nice. I hadn't felt parental touch in so long I was craving it. I think I even closed my eyes and leaned up into it, basking in the glow of his affection. And then he said, ‘Yeah, that’s my good girl. Hah, you are going to love it. You’ll love being held like this, there’ll be so many men pushing your face down onto their cocks and fucking your throat raw.”

Erik’s heart dropped into his stomach, into the pit of bile and stomach acid. His chest had constricted and he couldn’t breathe. Something snaked around his torso, squeezing it tight until he thought his body would snap into two. His vision was blurry when he stared at Raven, suddenly _feeling_ for her -- a myriad of emotions working its way through him in flashes of heat: Fear, disgust, hate, sorrow. The strongest emotion surged forward like the onslaught of thunder, his anger so ferocious his hands had curled into fists.

“I… don’t know what to say,” Erik said, hands shaking so badly he had to set his mug down on the table so that its contents wouldn’t spill over the edges. He folded his hands in his lap and kept them there.

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s already over. I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t easy for either of us. That’s why we’re like this. That’s why _I’m_ like this,” Raven said, truthful and honest, and it was all Erik could do not to erupt. She carded her fingers through her hair and threw her locks back behind her shoulders, serving only to put the image of a dirty, bulky man pushing her face down onto his cock in Erik’s mind.

He flinched, standing abruptly and circling around the perimeter of the kitchen. It was impossible to sit when nervous energy pumped through him at the speed of light and the strength of a war cannon.

“Why?” he said, whispering under his breath. “It’s not fair.”

Their lives were so fucked up.

“Fuck.” Erik panted. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. That’s not fair. That’s not fair!”

Erik paced the room and resisted the urge to grab the nearest object and smash it into the ground. It was hard to think with his mind feeling so volatile. It felt like one thing piled up on another. One more pained truth and Erik would snap, crash the porcelain cups and plates just to hear them all breaking, release a defeated cry so that all that energy could be directed externally instead of constantly being kept within the prison of his own body.

And then it just made sense -- how Raven was asking what he thought of brothels, how Raven provoked him with questions and remarks. They all revolved around the one topic: Sex. Now as Erik stole a glance at Raven a wave of numbness crashed over his being.

Raven’s childhood must have been absolute hell. The things she had gone through were not similar to Erik’s, but the pain of it all Erik could relate to.

He did one last lap around the kitchen then returned to Raven’s side. He was still jittery and on edge but calm enough not to have another sudden outburst.

“I didn’t think you’d have such a strong reaction,” she said, her head lifted so that she could look up at Erik. She seemed shocked.

He was going to agree with her but found himself instead pushing for more, “What happened next? What happened to you and Charles. And that man. What happened to him?”

"Next?” Raven asked with a hint of trepidation. “Oh man, that’s a long story.”

Erik seethed beside her, a lump of burning rage caught in his throat. He grit out through clenched teeth, “We’ve got time.”

“Are you sure?” Raven asked.

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“You’re going to get so mad.” She dragged out the syllables with a child-like laziness.

“I already am.”

“Well, Charles came into my room the night before I was meant to be sent home to my new owner. I was midway through packing my belongings when I turned and saw Charles by the door. He was very badly hurt.”

“Hurt?”

“Yeah, like beaten up. Badly.”

“Charles beaten up.” Erik could feel his own body tense and tight. He was vibrating with anger at the mere thought of someone laying a hand on Charles.

“You asked for it. Take a seat and I’ll tell you more about it.” Raven nudged the chair with her foot; it made a soft scratching sound against the floor. Erik didn’t move. “Erik, sit down.”

“I prefer standing,” Erik said.

“And I prefer you sitting,” Raven said firmly, and then softened a little, “I don’t like the height difference between us. You looming over me like this makes me feel uncomfortable.”

Erik’s shoulders dropped immediately. He eased himself back into a casual posture, keeping his spine relaxed and making deliberate effort to soften his expression as he slid into his chair; apologetic.

“There you go. Will you continue?” Erik didn’t manage to keep the impatience from his voice and the subsequent influx of thoughts about Charles, bloodied and beaten. Vibrant splashes of red danced through his mind; he could barely contain his wrath.

“There’s not much else to say. Charles showed up with a busted nose and a black eye. His front tooth was hanging on by a thread. He was limping.” Raven shook her head to clear the memory. “He looked like he’d been hit by a bus.”

“What else?”

“What do you mean what else?”

“You said it was a long story.”

“And it is.”

“So? What happened next?” Erik asked, his voice cracking.

“I was hoping you’d play detective and put the God damned pieces together already! He fought for me--literally and metaphorically! He bit, scratched, yelled, punched. We were fucking malnourished and tiny and I don’t know how Charles could have fought our captors, but he did. He was fucking dying when he staggered in, smiling of all things. He came over to me, put his arms around me and said that everything was going to be okay. I didn’t have to go anymore. He had taken care of things. He promised that we’d never be separated, not now, not ever. At that time I didn’t know what he’d done to change the boss’ mind. All I knew was that blood was staining my dress and Charles barely weighed anything when he collapsed in my arms.

“There was no doctor around and our captors didn’t think it was necessary to find one for him. They figured he’d die that night. Thinking back on it, I’m surprised he didn’t considering the severity of his injuries. I was no medical expert but I did the best I could in nursing him back to health with only stale bread and dirty water. He slept for days on my bed and slowly, _finally_ , got better. I was so thankful, you’ve no idea,” Raven said, voice breaking with a shuddering exhale of relief. “But then one morning when I woke, he wasn’t in the bed beside me. And then I heard from one of the younger lackeys that Charles was following the boss on a trip, learning the trades of the business after his promise to work for him until the day he died. Loyalty until death. He’s the reason I can walk around here indulging my vices. We’ve been through shit, bad shit. And he’s the reason I made it out alive. He gave up everything for me; for this family. He’s earned the respect he commands.”

Raven stood up, body trembling, suddenly looking weary as she glared at Erik as though he was the cause of her tortured past. Erik longed to comfort her. He saw echoes of Anya in her pain. He lifted his palm and reached for her but she pulled away, turning and heading out the door.

“Don’t say anything to him,” she said over her shoulder, her voice weak and small.

Erik let her leave. He hung his head and stared absently at a scone. He could never have imagined how deeply scared Charles truly was. It was no wonder Erik was able to empathize so uncharacteristically with the man.

A gruff voice roused Erik from his thoughts.

“What the bloody hell is going on?”

“Hmm?” Erik hummed, looking up to see Charles hovering over the table.

“Raven just ran past me in the hall. Rather unhappily, I might add. What did you do to my sister? And why are you sitting down to breakfast like you’ve got run of the place?”

Erik didn’t answer the barrage of questions. He simply sat there, looking up at Charles, desperately trying to keep the images of his beaten face at bay.

“Are you going to ignore me now?”

“I apologize,” Erik muttered as he got to his feet. “I’ll be off.”

Charles huffed dramatically. “No, you won’t. Evington has finally agreed to meet, so stop sulking and stop pissing off my sister.”

Erik nodded.

“Good. Now. Have you ever held a handgun?” Charles asked.

“I’ve had some training with the Summers brothers.” And a pistol of his own; a souvenir from his first kill, tucked away in the bottom drawer of his cupboard.

“That’s certainly convenient. Have we given you your own pistol yet?”

Erik shook his head.

“Well, it’s time we gave you one.” Charles clapped his hands together and rubbed them excitedly.

*

Xavier led them out the kitchen and down to the basement where they stopped in front of a metal door.

“Store room?” Erik asked.

Charles turned the metal wheel sticking out from the door. The mechanisms inside gave a hunkering click and then he pulled the door outwards.

“Bomb shelter bunker. It’s both fireproof and stands against earthquakes. Also sound-proof and as an extra precaution, explosion-proof. You never know what might go off from the inside when there’s so much gunpowder.”

It wasn’t a warehouse, though it was spacious and dark enough to feel like one. Rows after rows of standing metal shelves lined the bunker. Cartons of what Erik presumed to be inventory were stacked neatly onto them, filling every available space with boxes of varied sizes. They ranged from small parcel gift boxes to those the size of a two-seater couch.

“What’s inside that one?” Erik pointed at the largest box as they went past it.

“It’s a war cannon.”

Erik squinted incredulously at it. “Why do you even have that?”

“Oh, it’s not mine. It belongs to one of my friends. They wanted a cannon so I supplied. I run the firearms and ammunition business around here, didn’t you know?”  
  
Erik shook his head. “I thought brothels were your main trade.”

“That’s a hobby. My main line of business is dealing with all _this_ ,” he gestured to the boxes around them. “It’s much harder now to bring in such weapons but the profit is worth the trouble. It doesn’t hurt as well that I monopolise the firearms and ammunition industry underground. It’s hard to quit when you’re so far ahead of the rest.”

“As long as you’re happy,” Erik mumbled, mostly to himself, enraptured still by the sheer quantity of inventory available here.

Both men came to a stop near a display area built into one side of the bunker, a space carved out from the metal and slotted with rows of polished wooden planks. The weapons sat in their respective gun stands, looking like cheap souvenirs instead of actual objects of destruction. Certain stands stood by itself, the weapon it was holding likely already in use by the others in The Greyhounds.

“I don’t believe you’ve met Logan just yet. Erik, this is Logan. Logan, Erik. Do make yourselves acquainted because you’ll be working together quite frequently from now on.”

Logan was a short, stocky man with wild hair and an air of nonchalance about him. He stood beside the display shelf and chewed on one end of an unlit cigarette with an irritated aggression.

Erik thrust his hand out courteously.

“Hey.” Logan considered the gesture but kept both his hands shoved deep inside his pant pockets. Erik raised his brow at Logan before the man groused, “I don’t like enclosed areas,” he reluctantly pulled his hand out to grasp Erik’s, squeezing it unnecessarily hard. Erik managed not to wince as he squeezed back with the same force.

“That’s why he’s chewing on the cigarette. It’s like chewing gum. The motion helps to calm the nerves,” Charles said while he perused the upper rows of the display case. “Introduce yourself, Logan, while I decide on what might suit Erik best.”

Logan made a disgruntled sound and scratched his head, mussing his hair further. “What the fuck do I even got to tell about myself?”

“Anything you want to say,” Charles injected. “Erik’s going to be around for a long time. It’s better you both know something about each other. Helps with bonding, I feel. Besides, I only make you introduce yourself to those I trust.”

“Is that your way of saying I’m important to you?” Erik quipped.

“Of course you are. Do I not make it obvious enough?”

He had meant it in a teasing manner and was slightly taken aback by Charles’ reply.

“Well no, not really.” Erik had always thought he was disposable like the rest of Charles’ men. “It’s hard to tell when I’m being ordered around all the time. Unless that’s how you show care for your lackeys.”

Logan snorted. “He treats soldiers with far less interest. I handle them, and everyone else ranked below me. Those the boss likes, he gives special attention. Food, personal delivery of your paycheck, suits, healthcare. I had several bone problems back in the days before Chuck here fished me out from cage fightin, docs said they were permanent injuries and would severely undermine the power of my hooks. Turns out money could buy you a new life and solve your body issues as well. Who knew.”

“See? You two are already making progress. Good job, Logan,” Charles said humorously.

“Your turn, bub.” Logan jerked his head up at Erik.

“I’ll pass.” Erik raised his hands in a manner of defeat.

“Suit yourself,” Logan said, biting off one end of the cigarette to chew on as though it were licorice candy.

“You’re not going to introduce yourself?” Charles asked, sounding disappointed.

“There’s not much to say. I have a shitty life and Charles is feeding my family.” Not to mention, Erik was sleeping with the boss as well. “My life is generic and boring,” he deflected the spotlight easily.

“Fair enough. What’s your deal with the boss?” Logan questioned. “I’m his right-hand man and advisor. I do most of the talking. S’much as I fucking hate it.”

“Uh…” Erik didn’t know either. What was he to Charles exactly? If he was merely Charles’ whore then it wouldn’t be necessary to drag him around trying to get him involved in all his illegal businesses. Unless that was Charles’ way of incriminating him to eventually set him up as a scapegoat. It’s a likely possibility, and another one of those thoughts Erik would hate to give too much of his time. “To be honest I thought I had become his right-hand man.”

Charles burst into laughter, sighing out an, “Oh Erik,” then returning to the task at hand.

Erik felt his face heat up and he bit the inside of his lip. “You weren’t around and Charles was asking me to stand in for a lot of meetings. I apologize for assuming.”

“It doesn’t just take a few weeks to climb up the ranks, kid. It takes years. I’m his right-hand man,” Logan explained, his tone rough but still kind.

“What does that make me then?” Erik turned towards Charles.

“Mine.” Charles smiled, a tiny self-satisfied smile. “You’re no right-hand man, though you’re certainly no foot soldier either. You’re simply, Mine.”

Erik’s heart clenched and his pulse quickened. The _badump badump_ sound rang loudly in his ears like a steady drum beat. His jaw clamped and he kept his mouth tightly shut, sure that if he tried speaking all that would come out would be incoherent garbles of nonsense. On his left, Logan looked on disinterestedly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed the tobacco.

“Alright.” Erik’s voice was soft and remained, thankfully, steady, though the deep tint of red over his cheeks would surely betray him. Before he could embarrass himself further with more talk, Charles had taken Erik’s wrist and slapped something solid into his palm, landing it with a crisp smack.

“This marvellous creature is now yours,” Charles drawled, practically glowing with satisfaction. “This is a revolving pistol. Six shots. All you’d ever need in a pistol. You can kiss it, hug it, give it a name, treat it like a comfort pillow, I don’t care and I don’t want to know. All I need from you is to get comfortable with it because we have three hours before the meetup and I need you to be ready by then.”

It was a sleek, black weapon. Solid and compact. It felt small in his grasp, looked weak. Like someone could easily slap it out from his hand.

“I guess Evington’s an easy target then.” Erik turned it this way and that way, fiddling with it until he didn’t feel quite so flushed anymore.

“I wouldn’t know,” Charles said, “It’s still better to be prepared than not. You wouldn’t want your balls busted just because you underestimated your opponent and decided not to bring weapons. If you’re thinking the gun looks like a child’s play thing, I can’t argue with you on that point. The mechanics that drive the machine, however, is the best in the market. You’ll never find another pistol with better firepower than this one. It’s brutal, is what it is. Piercing yet quieter than most. It’s good and one of my favourites. It’ll suit you.”

“It’s six shots.” Erik thumbed the cylinder release, running the pad of his finger over the empty chambers.

“If you can’t kill with one shot, five more won’t make a difference,” Charles stated matter of factly.

Logically, it made sense. Given the choice, Erik would still have preferred a machine gun, something that ran along the infinite for at least a full minute. A better weapon to make up for his barely passable gun skills.

They stripped to put on the bullet proof vests. Once that was done, Charles reached for a box of bullets and loaded up his own revolver, hiding the rest of the ammo in the pockets of his clothing. Erik followed suit, then straightened out his jacket and smoothed his hands down the fabric, patting at the hidden ammo as a last minute check.

“Are we ready, chaps?” Charles gleamed with excitement.

*

The light glimmering off Raven’s hair was impossible to miss as they stepped out into the open carpark. There was a pure blue Mini parked alongside a boxy, dark sea green car. The metal rims of both cars reflected the sunlight, and that in turn accentuated the curves and ridges of the machines.

“Hello boys. Are we ready to meet our favourite whore owner?” Raven waved and threw her hair back over her shoulders before sliding into the seat.

As they got into the cars, Charles with Erik and Raven with Logan, Erik said, “I’m not sure how wise it is bringing Raven along to this meetup.”

“It isn’t.” Charles reversed out the parking lot and circled around the fountain towards the gate. “But, Angel is special. She and Raven were childhood friends, Angel is perhaps one of the most important people in Raven’s life. I would convince her to stay behind but she would insist on following.”

The journey there was made in silence, the stillness between them broken up only when they were nearing their destination.

“Listen carefully,” Charles piped up, “The amount has already been decided. This is merely a transaction: money for person. Logan has the cash and he’ll hand it over to one of Evington’s men. Angel comes with us, and the deal is complete. We all go home with what we came here for and everyone is happy.” The smile Charles wore barely reached his eyes.

“I get the feeling you’re being sarcastic.” Erik squinted at him. “You’re expecting something to go wrong?”

A huff of annoyance left Charles like a sigh. “I’m expecting him to make a statement. He’s old and tired now, but before that he was one of the better businessmen. The businesses he ran were legitimate and highly sought after. He has a lot of wealth and he still has the respect of many. That means he had to do what it took to get to where he is now, making him a far more cruel man that I am. He’s been off the radar the past few years but I suspect he’s going to take us for a joy ride today. We’re the back scratch to the itch that never quite goes away, even in retirement.”

Erik shook his head. “I’m not getting your metaphor. What are you saying, he’s going to play us?”

“We’re mobsters. Gangsters. However you put it. We kill people. Sometimes because it’s necessary and other times because it’s fun. Evington falls into the latter category.” Charles hissed. “He’s been dragging me around on a leash this whole time, changing the agreed amount every other week. He’s playing me, Erik. If he was genuine we would have come to a conclusion a long time ago. So, no, he’s not actually interested in selling Angel, he simply wants to toy with us until we’re frustrated and leave. He’s likely going to size me up, show me who’s boss around here. Show to me that Angel is his property and he can do what he wants with her and that no one can bother him unless he wishes for them to. I’m sure I’ve done more than bothered him for a while now. I’ve rather forced him to meet me, really. And I’m quite certain he’s annoyed by it. It’s just a feeling, but I think he’ll kill Angel as an act of dominance.” There were creases on Charles’ forehead that made Erik want to lean over and smooth them out.

It’ll be all for nothing if Angel died, which meant they’d have to intervene before Evington could make a move. Erik slipped his hand under his jacket and touched the grip of his gun, giving it a short squeeze. He ran two digits over the holster then back down to the grip, tracing the back strap, then letting his hand fall to his thigh.

They rounded a corner and a warehouse came into view. It was worn down and possibly abandoned a long time ago; it looked exactly like the sort of place someone would hold a gang meet. Erik frowned disapprovingly whilst Charles’ downturned mouth matched his displeasure.

“This might be worse than I initially thought.” Charles’ car entered the metal gates with Raven’s following on its heels.

They stopped metres away from the warehouse’s sole entrance. As far as Erik could tell, there was only one way in and one way out.

“We’re fucked if we go in,” Erik said, the realization of their circumstance hitting him hard with dread. The building was large and looming and felt like a death trap. The sky had grown ominously darker and the wind whipped past them, cold and stinging. The entire thing felt wrong the moment he stepped out the car.

“I know,” was all Charles said, resigned to their fates. “For now, we stick to the original plan. If things go bad, you know what to do.”

Raven and Logan came out from their vehicle. Raven adjusted her suit jacket and Logan rolled his shoulders back, face placid as he rumbled, “Stick to the plan?”

“Yes.” Charles’ back straightened and he lifted his chin; that tiny motion making him appear more _Mr Xavier_ rather than the Charles Xavier Erik had come to know. He tipped his face upwards and made an indistinguishable face at the clouds. “Let’s get a move on before it starts to pour.”

Once inside, Erik discovered that it was a factory, not a warehouse. There was a printing machine to his left, and a long desk in the corner with outdated newspapers strewn across the surface; old and forgotten. On his right, several crates of inventory stacked up high, almost reaching the ceiling. And further down right, small pieces of machinery were thrown into a pile, obsolete now that they were mere scrap metal.

The place was musty and stale, like an old library left untouched and weathered down by rain.

Evington and his men were in the centre. It was easy to distinguish the Boss from the rest. Evington had extra pounds on him, wearing years of a comfortable, lush life on his body and he was older than the rest; his white hair combed back with no leeway for his reclining hairline.

There were eight soldiers surrounding Evington’s sides and back, protecting him. Angel was by his right, miserably tiny in comparison to her owner’s lumbering frame. She wore bags under her eyes and had blue-purple bruises on her exposed arms. She stood on thin, twig-like legs and looked ready to pass out. Evington obviously did not give her an easy time, and Erik was sure he made things even harder for her right up til today’s transaction.

“Good afternoon,” Evington said, his voice low and raspy. “I trust you didn’t have a hard time finding this place.”

“Not at all.” Charles had a perfectly crisp smile fixed upon his face. “Though I would have preferred a public location. We could have dealt in one of your restaurants, or mine, for that matter. It would have been much more convenient for us both.”

Evington shrugged one shoulder, the motion was slow and heavy. “I thought it would give us some privacy. The city is so loud and cramped. I’m an old man now, I can’t keep up with the lot of you,” he spoke so gently the words almost sounded genuine. “I just want things to go by quietly, I want to be relaxed and unbothered.”

“Great. We’ll try to take up as little of your time as we can then.” Charles motioned for Logan to step forward. The man held up a thick, brown envelope in the air for everyone to see.

“Take it.” It made a crunching sound as Logan thrust it forward. Logan pointed at Angel. “Give her here.”

Evington’s gaze landed on the envelope, his expression that of consideration. He hummed, exhaling hoarsely, like something prickly was trapped in his windpipe. “You know,” he drawled, “as much as I love a good deal, and believe me, it is a fantastic deal considering the sum we’ve agreed on, I’m more fond of stability. I like having a routine, and Angel’s been… well, such an angel.” He curled one arm around Angel’s waist and pulled her in so that she was pressed against his side. Angel grimaced, reacting on instinct as she clawed at his shoulder, trying to get away from him but then eventually relaxing, her body melting into his grasp. Her brows were still pinched and her closed off posture revealed extreme discomfort. But if she had been trained not to fight back when touched without consent, she was remembering it now.

Erik’s teeth clenched and his nostrils flared as he steadied himself, burying images of Anya far into the corners of his mind. There was no need for personal fears and worries to get in the way of business, especially now when their lives would be in peril the second anything fell out of sequence.

From the corner of his eyes, Raven was firmly rooted to the ground, her presence strong and solid, face stoic. Erik felt more secure knowing she was calmer than he, or at least she appeared to be. Either way, it lent him strength to watch on as Evington buried his nose into Angel’s hair and inhaled, letting out a short contented sigh.

“Yes. I have no doubt you’ve trained her very well. Your men are the shining example of your teaching; I have only praises for them. Their blind loyalty and mindless obedience astounds me. If only I could beat out every opinionated thought and remark without remorse the way you do, I’m sure I’ll be a much more successful businessman.” Charles laughed softly. And much to Erik’s surprise, so did Evington.

“Alas, you always were too kind,” Evington squeezed his meaty fingers into Angel’s bony shoulder, making her face contort in pain. “I believe in training with a firm hand. I like my lackeys eager and dumb, like dogs. I like my women the same way.”

He seemed to wait for Charles to chime in and agree with his statement, Charles merely laughed, smile otherwise perfect if it weren’t for Erik’s trained eyes. It was strained, Charles’ facade gradually slipping as his patience wore thin.

“Thank you for all the work you’ve put into Angel,” Charles said. “Now perhaps we’d like to get on with the transaction. I’m sure you have so many important matters to attend to. As do I. Logan, please give the money to our dearest Mr Evington.”

Logan crossed the space to Evington, the movement so abrupt Evington’s men reached into their jackets for their guns, pausing only when Logan stopped right before their boss. Two already had their weapons out, on the brink of firing.

Erik reached for his pistol but Raven held an arm out to stop him. _Don’t_ , she mouthed. _Just wait._

“Wait?” He glared at the weapons aimed at Logan. The second either went off, the entire plan would blow to fucking bits.

He whirled back around to look at Raven, watching as she shook her head. _Stick to the plan,_ she mouthed.

Stick to the plan. Stay low, don’t fuck things up, don’t get killed, everyone goes home happy. This was such an implausible plan. If Evington was sincere, there wouldn’t be guns pointing at anyone and they would be driving away from this derelict building already. Ignoring the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he begrudgingly relaxed.

“Thanks for the deal,” Logan raised the envelope and tilted it forward, chucking it against Evington’s chest. “I’ll be taking her with me now.”

When Logan grabbed at Angel’s wrist, Evington’s mouth twisted downwards.

“No.” Evington clutched Angel and roughly reared her back. She was thrown to the ground like a rag doll, laying on the floor behind the large, burly mafia boss. “Deal’s off. I never wanted to sell her and I’m not going to sell her ever. She’s mine. Take your money and leave.”

The men behind Evington drew their guns and Erik had to draw his, aiming for Evington’s head. Raven and Logan had theirs out as well and Charles was… He was standing in open air with all eight guns directed at him, ready to fire with a single command. It would tear him to tatters, leaving him a cold, lifeless heap of flesh.

Charles was wrong. Evington had no intention of killing Angel. The objective had always been to get rid of Charles, here, and now. It didn’t matter that killing Charles meant putting Evington on The Greyhound’s list of wanted, it made no difference for an old, tired man who would clear out the entire family before any Greyhound managed to take his life.

Charles was still standing there, right in the line of attack, vulnerable and exposed, and Erik needed to take him to safety, away from all of this, away from the imminent threat of bloodshed and death. They were drastically outnumbered and there was no way they’d make it out alive if this turned into a full out crossfire. Glancing around, Erik spotted a makeshift barricade that came in the form of rusty machines stacked near a wall. It would provide enough cover for them to stay alive for now and Erik never let it slip from his mind and sight.

“Please,” Charles started, his voice the most honest Erik had ever heard it. “You and I both know how messy this can become if either of us fires. I only want to make this as smooth and fuss free a transaction as it can be. And it can, despite the current circumstances.” Charles jerked his head to the men surrounding Evington. “If you want to discuss the price, let’s do it. What is it you’re not satisfied with? What is it you need? Let’s come to a beneficial conclusion and we can all walk away from here happy.”

“I don’t want to sell Angel. I never wanted to. You are -- you’re a fucking fly in my ear, buzzing around all day, every day. I just want to live my life quiet and alone, yet you can’t seem to fucking understand that. You keep buzzing around me and you don’t leave me the fuck alone and I’m tired of it.” Evington drew his gun. “I’m going to get rid of you once and for all.”

There was bang and then a scream.

Erik’s heart stopped. A high pitched ringing sounded continually in his ears. His skin was hot and sweaty but his blood ran cold in his veins. He stole a second to check himself and noted that his arms and legs were still intact. He was fine. When his gaze fell upon Evington, he saw that the lumbering man had bent over and fallen and was clutching at his crotch.

“Fuck!” Evington cursed boorishly, weapon discarded several feet away from him.

As he reached for it, Angel kicked it aside, sliding it across the floor, too far now for him to grab.

“Fuck you,” Angel screamed, sharp and broken, years of pent up rage unleashing at once. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” She threw herself bodily onto Evington, scratching and thrashing and biting hard into Evington’s neck, making him straighten abruptly to try and throw her off. His booming wail ignited a spark in his men and bullets pierced through the air.

“Charles!” Erik had tackled him down before he could be hit. They landed in a heap of arms and legs and Erik heard Charles hiss in pain. Two more shots echoed across the factory and Erik lifted his head in time to watch two bodies falling like dominos, one after the other. “Come on!” He grabbed Charles’ wrist and pulled him to his feet, diving behind the metal barrier and barely saving themselves from being hit.

“Are you alright?” Erik held his pistol to his chest and crouched low, careful to avoid having head blown off.

“I’m fine,” Charles grunted.

Erik looked over to where Raven and Logan had taken cover behind the giant crates and were taking turns to peek out and shoot. There was no time to aim, not while their enemy were firing rapidly every time they stepped out from behind the crates to shoot. Cornered as they were, Raven and Logan had no choice but to make blind shots.

“So what’s the new plan? Try to get out alive?” Erik was on his heels, ready to peer over their makeshift barrier and take aim. He hoped to G-d his own techniques were solid enough to take down the men.

“The plan now is to kill them all, get out alive, and take Angel with us,” Charles declared, steady and confident as ever.

Erik stared at him in disbelief. “We’re vastly outnumbered and these guys are dogs. They’re so loyal they don’t care if they die.”

“Raven and Logan are willing to die for me. And I’m willing to die for Angel. If you’re willing to put yourself on the line, we can take them down.” Charles’ mouth was set into a firm line, his gaze piercing as Erik met it.

This was a test, Erik realized belatedly, to see if he would surrender and beg for his life. He wasn’t fond of either Charles or Evington’s methods of running a gang, but he wasn’t stupid enough to risk raising the white flag at a time like this. Besides, he was indebted to Charles, no matter how fucked up a person his boss was. It was the nature of the business and he’d always known there would come a time where he’d be in a situation like this.

Erik gave no reply, choosing instead to listen to the sounds of Evington’s hoarse shouting as Angel attacked him viciously. A bullet skimmed over the metal just above Erik’s head and he flinched, pressing his back against the cool surface of the barrier. He clenched his eyes shut, his leg muscles wound tight.

He waited for the tell tale sign of silence, the few seconds when their enemies were reloading, then got up and searched for Evington. He and Angel were struggling, limbs tangled together and moving too much for him to dare take the shot. Erik thought of ducking again but when he saw someone get up from behind the long desk, he squeezed the trigger. The gun’s recoil startled him. The bullet sank into the man’s chest and he jerked backwards, landing with a thump.

Another man down. Five more to go.

He crouched and turned to Charles. “I’m more than capable of putting my life on the line for you.”

A wicked grin split over Charles’ face. “Good. That’s what I was hoping to hear.” And then Charles thrust himself into the open, kneeling, his posture perfectly textbook, back and arms straight, two hands gripped tight on the panel. Charles fired several shots and Erik saw smoke dispersing from the the muzzle as the bullets flew across the factory, sinking into the target who dropped off with a choked off shout.

“Four more to go.” Charles lowered himself back down, disappearing from the enemy’s line of sight.

There was a light in Charles’ eyes that burned hot and ravenous, the smile he wore youthful, carelessly jovial, exciting and dangerous and intricately magnetising. And Erik couldn’t tear his gaze away -- couldn’t stop staring.

It was gone as quickly as it had come. Charles slapped his outer thigh with the back of his hand and tossed a look over the barrier. And then they were focused on the task at hand once more, a routine quickly forming over the next few shots: Steal moments to peek out from behind their barrier and attack, crouch down, reload, get up and fire again.

Erik was getting better, the initial slate of inexperience overwritten as muscle memory triumphed and he killed yet another. Time seemed to go on forever and Erik lost count of how many men they had taken down.

“He’s leaving!” Raven shouted, panicking as she carelessly wasted a full round of ammo in an attempt to stop Evington from exiting through the back door.

Back door? Erik hadn’t noticed the back door before. Fuck. He hadn’t even thought to survey the area once he had stepped into the building, assuming only from what he saw on the outside, and forgetting entirely about any possible routes of escape from within the confined walls.

“Shit,” Erik cursed. His cylinder was empty and he hurriedly reloaded, grinding out a frustrated sound when his hand-eye coordination decided to suddenly stop functioning. He had to stay calm, he had to stop the trembling in his hand so that the bullets could slide correctly into the chambers. Angel’s unconscious form was slung over Evington’s shoulder, her arms swaying left and right as he carried her out back. “If he leaves we’ll never find him again. We need to stop him right now.”

“Can’t. They’re all standing and guiding him out back. I can’t get up without putting myself in danger.” Charles peered over the metal barrier. Despite what Charles had said, his posture was one of readiness. His gun was loaded and his breathing forcefully slowed.

Erik feared the enemy could easily send a bullet sinking through his skull, burying it inside his brain. He seized the lapels of Charles’ jacket and dragged him down. “Don’t! You’re gonna get yourself killed if you get up there.”

“I’m going to lose Angel if I stay down here.” Charles shrugged Erik off.

Erik had just finished loading the cylinder when Charles stood, firing a total of five times and missing every single one of them. He saw rather than heard Charles swearing, mouth moving animatedly whilst someone spoke French from the other side of the factory. The voices of their remaining enemies got louder, a series of rough syllables and instructions, and as Charles released the last bullet, his entire body jerked, spasming violently from head to toe. His left hand flew up to clutch at his right bicep.

“Charles!” Raven’s high-pitched scream almost covered the resounding thud that came from the enemy side. Charles’ final shot had taken; sending the targeted lackey to the ground.

Erik bolted upright and was ready to take aim except Logan had already intercepted, wiping the area clean as the last soldier collapsed.

Someone was heaving, a throaty distorted noise that stopped short with a grunt. It was Charles, Erik realized. Deep red soaked through Charles’ sleeve and smeared his palm bloody where he had it pressed against the wound. Charles staggered, wavering back and forth until Erik caught him around the waist and held him upright.

“Are you alright?” It was hard to keep his voice from shaking; Erik could see Charles trembling in tiny spasms.

“I’m fine,” Charles’ voice was strained. It seemed to take enormous effort for him to focus enough to scan the area. There were lifeless bodies strewn across the floor, all in varying positions; it looked like the set of a gory movie.

“Are you alright, Charles?” Raven bounded over just as the back door exit clanged open.

“I’ll get him,” Logan growled.

“Leave it,” Charles said, biting at his lip and wincing when he tried to stand without Erik’s help. “I called Marie in once Evington told us we’d meet. She came here first to scout. I figured we could use the back up but I didn’t think this would blow up so drastically. It’s a miscalculation on my part.” He eventually lost balance and leaned into Erik.

Erik pulled him closer, cautiously not touching Charles’ wound. Even though the factory was filled with blood, Erik could smell Charles’ most acutely, sharp and strong and _fresh_. It left something bitter in his mouth, he could almost taste the iron on his tongue.

Outside, a single gunshot boomed, leaving a bellowing wail in its wake.

“I hear him screaming.” Erik glanced toward the exit. Sunlight streamed in through the open door and he could see a small figure inspecting a large body sprawled on the earth. Tiny hitches of breath came from beyond the door to which Erik suspected was Evington’s miserable sobbing. “He’s not dead yet.”

“No,” Charles agreed. “Marie will slow down a target, but she never kills. It’s not in her nature.” Charles was insisting on walking on his own again and had torn himself away from Erik.

“For fuck’s sake Charles, you’re hurt! Evington’s not going anywhere, just lie down, please.” Erik couldn’t help his tone. His nerves were frayed and all he could think of was to get Charles to a hospital as soon as was possible.

Despite Erik’s remark, Charles merely scoffed, somehow more pleased than offended. “I’ve had worse. Come on. I want to finish this quickly and call for the clean up crew. All this blood is giving me a headache.”

If Erik had any say in Charles’ actions, he would have made him stay put. Surely they could drive the car in through the main entrance and get Charles strapped in comfortably and secure. Except Charles was already moving forward, one step at a time, leaving Erik in his dust.

“Fucking damn it,” Erik murmured under his breath and followed after him, ready to catch him should he minutely sway.

The walk to the exit was without hiccups. Charles’ legs were fine and carried him across the factory with ease. Although, the walk itself was stilted and tense, like Charles was trying not to increase his heart rate too quickly or accidentally jostle the wound with sudden increased pressure. Stopping before a pained Mr Evington, Charles stared satisfyingly at his busted kneecap. With an injury like that, he wouldn't be able to get away even if he were limping.

“Good afternoon Mr Evington,” Charles greeted, spewing the line with faux sincerity. “I see you’re having a little trouble with your leg. I suppose that makes for running away rather difficult, doesn’t it. One of your men got my arm but well, I’m still in a far better position than you.” He tapped Evington’s knee with the side of his shoe, causing the man to curl into himself and groan. “Oh my, that must hurt real bad. Is there anything I can do to help you with it?”

By the side, Marie was holding a shivering, terrified Angel, stroking down her back in a calming manner. Angel’s hair was dishevelled and her entire frame trembled as though a live wire strung through her limbs, sending jolts down to her fingers and toes. Angel sat with her knees drawn to her chest, making her small and fragile. She spoke in a fast and crisp language that sounded vaguely like Spanish.

Evington uncurled himself and stretched towards Angel. “Come here,” he clasped at empty air, “Angel come here.” It wasn’t an order, not anymore. Every tiny movement must have made the bones in his knee feel like they were shattering into ever finer pieces. Erik would’ve felt sorry for him if he hadn’t been an abusive piece of fuck.

“She needs to be away from him as soon as possible,” Marie urged, expression becoming serious when neither of them cared to move. The human trash on the ground was a sight for sore eyes. “Mr Xavier.”

Charles’ chest rose as he breathed. He collected himself and unlocked the cylinder release to check that there were still bullets remaining. Blood smeared the gun’s surface when Charles moved his left hand away to steady his right. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

He raised his arm, steadied it, and then --

Evington’s outstretched arm landed heavily. He stopped moving.

The death was less dramatic than Erik would have expected, but the silence that reigned after sent a shiver running down his spine. He felt cold despite how much energy he had exerted earlier, his skin disgustingly thick and clammy, like he was wearing a second layer. He wanted to go home and scrub at it until he could feel his exterior burning red and raw and clean. That’s it. He needed to thoroughly clean himself.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.” Logan brought Angel to her feet and Raven seemed to come back to herself. Without the threat of death hanging over their heads, she could see her childhood friend properly for the first time in years.

“Hey,” Raven said, dropping her gun and staggering towards Angel. She was gentle as she cupped Angel’s face, words soft as if anything louder than a whisper would send the abused girl fleeing. “It’s me, Raven. Do you remember me?”

“No me toques,” Angel said, scrambling backwards to put distance between them. “No me toques!” She shook her head wildly and hid behind Marie.

It made sense for Angel to behave this way; she was too traumatised to properly think and remember and since Marie was the one to help her get away from Evington, she’d likely feel more secure with her. It didn’t make it any easier to watch as hope drained from Raven’s face, mouth parted in a long, tired exhale.

Logan sped through the streets once Erik had buckled Charles into the back passenger seat. He couldn’t help peeking to check that Charles was still awake, still alive. “I’m fine,” Charles had insisted, waving away Erik’s concern, but Erik couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Charles leant exhaustedly against the door and winced every time they went over a road bump. Soon enough, Erik had taken Charles’ hand in his, squeezing it every few miles and ensuring that Charles gave a returning squeeze. At first Charles had protested, withdrawing from Erik’s grasp like he’d tasted something foul. Eventually, he relented, whatever fight he had left in him seeping away entirely.

By the time they got to the office, Charles was slow with lethargy and had far too little strength.

“M’really tired,” Charles mumbled, letting out a whimper as Erik carried him from the car into the club.

“You’re fine, Charles. You’re fine. Just stay with me.”

Dr McCoy was already there when they arrived. He inspected the wound and then dropped the bandage and antiseptic in lieu of surgical gloves.

“Put him on the table. It’s becoming infected. I need to work on him right away.”

McCoy brought out a tray of equipment and Erik’s stomach revolted at the sight, memories of Auschwitz replaying in his mind. Except this time it was Charles under the knife, and not Erik himself. And right now, it was to save a life, not waste one.

And Erik could do it. He could be there for Charles, accompany him through the procedure. He had to. He must. Even when McCoy injected the anesthetic that didn’t quite put Charles to sleep, even when Charles started to thrash, screaming agonizingly as McCoy dug the scalpel in.

With no medical skills and knowledge, there was absolutely nothing Erik could do to help. All he could manage was to stay there through the procedure, grip Charles’ hand and be there for him until the pain had ended.

“You’re going to be okay. It’s going to be fine.”

All he could do now, was wait.


End file.
